Stu"bima. 


CQQmill. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

COLLEGE 


presented  by 
Mr.  Henry  Adams 


LETTERS  TO  A  COLLEGE 
FRIEND. 


LETTERS  ADDRESSED 

TO   A   COLLEGE  FRIEND 

DURING    THE    YEARS     1 840-1 845. 
BY  JOHN  RUSKIN. 


PUBLISHED  BY  MACMILLAN  &  CO., 
NEW  YORK;  AND  GEORGE  ALLEN, 
LONDON.  MDCccxciv. 


a.,  ZS3J. 


All  riehts  resei'ved. 


PR  tANTA  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBRARl 

5-^63 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 

These  Letters^  together  ivith  the  Essay 
("  Was  there  Death  before  Adam  fell,  in 
other  parts  of  Creation  ?  ")  are  published 
with  Mr.  Ruskin's  consent;  bnt  he  is  in 
no  zvay  responsible  for  their  arrangement 
and  editing. 

June  iSg4. 


CONTENTS 

LETTER   I. 

Oxford,  June  17  [1840?]. 

Occupations  for  the  Day — The  Blenheim  Raffaelle 

Pp.  1-6 

LETTER   n. 

[Postmark,  Camberwell  Green,  July  4,  1840.] 

The  Evolution  of  a  Penny — Reflections  on  a  Penny — The 
Purchasability  of  a  Penny—  "  Half  a  Good  Samaritan- 
ship  " — George  Herbert's  Poems— Oxford  Chit-chat — 
Personal  Analysis  .....        Pp.  7-15 

LETTER    in. 

{Postmark,  July  31,   1840.] 

"Perfect  Additions" — Derbyshire  Minerals — Derbyshire 
and  Cumberland — Mountain-climbing  in  Lakeland — 
The  BestVievvsof  Derwentwater — Southey's  Favourite 
View — Rules  for  Correspondence — The  Results  of 
Christian  Burial — Fossilized  Humanity — Personalities 
— The  Keswick  Guide   ....         Pp.  16-27 


viii  Contents 

LETTER   IV. 

[Postmay/i,  Sept.  i,  1840.] 

Lakeland— The  Caverns  of  Derbyshire — Smollett  and 
Fielding — Plans  for  Travelling — Aristotle  seen  in  a 
New  Light — Wintering  in  Italy — Epistolary  Distinc- 
tions  Pp.  28-35 

LETTER  V. 

Friday,  iitk  Sept.  [1840?]. 

The  Object  of  High  Art— What  Art  should  Convey— Artists 
and  their  Individualities — The  Ethics  of  Portrait- 
painting — The  Power  of  Association — Essentials  in 
Sketches  —  License  in  Composition  —  "  Friendship's 
Offering" Pp.  36-44 

LETTER   VI. 

Rome,  December  3,  1840. 

Aids  to  Happiness — Perception  of  the  Beautiful — Lessons 
in  Art— Harding's  Despisal  of  Colour — Methods  of 
Harding  and  Turner — De  Wint  as  opposed  to  Harding 
— De  Wint's  Special  Characteristics — Cox's  Place 
among  Artists — Effect  of  Cox's  Teaching — Turner  for 
a  Sleeping-draught — "  The  Epitome  of  all  Art" — Our 
Lady  of  Chartres — Orleans  Cathedral — Tours  Cathe- 
dral— The  Carrara  Mountains — The  Unchiselled  Life 
in  Carrara — St.  Peter's  at  Rome — Sculpture  in  the 
Vatican— Ancient  Rome — The  Clergy  on  the  Con- 
tinent      Pp.  45-65 


Contents  ix 

LETTER  VII. 

Naples,  Februaiy  12,  1841. 

Health  versus  Work — "Modern  Painters"  begun  — 
Religious  Matters — Verse  Writers  and  their  Excuses 
— The  Mental  Effects  of  Sorrow — "  Psammenitus  " 
Analysed  —  Dodges  in  Criticism  —  The  Choice  of 
Metaphor — Vesuvius — "Psammenitus"  further  Ana- 
lysed —  Infinity  and  Mystery  Everywhere  —  The 
Mystery  of  Human  Emotions — The  Kindling  of  the 
Imagination — The  Essence  of  Poetry — The  Power  of 
an  Epithet — Scott's  Poetry — Great  Poets  and  their 
Meanings — The  Function  of  Poetry — Obscurity  in 
Poetry — The  Work  of  Fatigued  Moments     Pp.  66-91 


LETTER   VIII. 

Venice,  May  16.     {Postmark,  1841.] 

Peterborough  Cathedral  —  The  Scenery  of  Clifton  — 
Friends  and  Relations — Distinctions  in  Affection — 
The  Domestic  Affections — Universal  Brotherhood — 
The  Divine  Laws  of  Taste — Association  an  Ambiguous 
Word— Power  of  Association  Limited — Instincts  of  a 
Healthy  Mind — The  Divine  Attributes — Personalities 
—  Health  versus  Plans  —  Childhood's  Infinity  of 
Happiness — Impressions  of  Venice — The  Prisons  of 
Venice — Personalities  ....         Pp.  92-109 


X  Contents 

LETTER    IX. 

53  Russell  Terrace,  Leamington,  September  27. 
[Pustmark,  1841.] 

The  Value  of  Chit-chat — Letters  as  a  Test  of  Friendship — 
Society  a  Penance — Entomology  and  its  Drawbacks 
—  Studies  for  a  Lifetime  —  Alison's  "History  of 
Europe" Pp.  110-117 

LETTER   X. 

Herne  Hill,  Novemher  25.     [Postmark,  1841.] 

Death  and  Eternity — Horses  the  Curse  of  England — Study- 
ing with  Harding — Personalities        ,        Pp.  1 18-122 

LETTER   XL 

[Postmark,  December  22,  1841.] 
"  Friendship's  Offering  " — Personalities  .        Pp.  123-125 

LETTER   XIL 

[No  date.] 
Hints  for  Chalk-drawing  ....         Pp.  126-127 

LETTER   Xin. 

[Postmark,  February  21,   1842.] 

Choice  of  Correspondents  —  Indolence  makes  People 
Morose — Hints  for  Shading— "  A  Private-judgment 
Man"  —  Meaning  of  the  word  "Church"  —  Per- 
sonalities  ......         Pp.  128-134 


Contents  xi 

LETTER   XIV. 

[Postmark,  March  12,  1842.] 

Requisites  in  Shading — Lessons  in  Shading — The  Art  of 
Shading — When  Freedom  should  Come — Personali- 
ties       Pp.  135-142 

LETTER    XV. 

[Postmark,  August  19,   1842.] 

Employment  of  Restricted  Leisure— The  Growth  of  Art 
Principles — The  Test  of  Real  Progress — Increased 
Powers  of  Perception — "  The  Vinegar-banked  Rhine  " 

Pp.  143-149 

LETTER    XVI. 

[Postmark,  September  19,   1S42.] 

Truth  an  Essential  in  Sketching — Varying  Pursuits — 
Appetite  Dependent  on  Temperature — Flower  Effects 
in  Landscape     .         .         .         .         .         Pp.  150-154 

ESSAY. 

Was  there  Death  before  Adam  Fell,  in  other 
Parts  of  Creation  ? 

Distinctions  in  Scriptural  Evidence  —  Reproduction 
im;7!ies  Death — Nourishment  attendant  upon  Death — 
Chemical  Constituents  in  Plants — Forms  of  Nourish- 
ment— Supplementary  Parts  of  Creation — The  Green 


Contents 

Herb  for  Meat — The  Earth  without  Death — Preserva- 
tion of  Structural  Types — Influence  of  the  Carnivora 
— A  Labyrinth  of  Difficulties — How  to  Read  the 
Mosaic  Account — Sealed  Mysteries — Source  of  Car- 
bonate of  Ammonia — Diminution  of  Carbonic  Acid 

Pp-  155-172 


LETTER   XVIL 

[Postmark,  Jamiary  8,  1843.] 

The  Characteristics  of  a  Tree — The  Definition  of  a  Tree — 
Death  the  Corollary  of  Blossoming — The  Carnivora 
in  Eden  —  Gift  of  Functions  presupposes  Use  — 
Deductions  about  Animal  Creation  —  Additional 
Happiness  Gained  —  Geological  Evidence  —  Man's 
State  in  Eden — Personalities     .         .         Pp.  173-183 


LETTER   XVin. 

[Postviark,  February  7,  1843.] 

The  Benefit  of  Sermons — Reynolds,  Fuseli,  and  Barry — 
Mrs.  Sherwood's  Religion — "Fixing"  Chalk  and 
Pencil  Drawings         ....        Pp.  184-191 


LETTER   XIX. 

[Letter  mutilated  at  the  beginning.] 
Discussion  on  Eden  continued  .         .         Pp.  192-194 


Contents  xiii 

LETTER   XX. 

Denmark  Hill,  Dccctnhcy  5  [1843  ?]. 

Truth  in  Sketching — The  First  Essential  of  Composition 
—The  Limits  of  Artistic  License  —  Afterglow  in 
Southern  Countries   ....         Pp.  195-199 

LETTER   XXL 

Macugnaga — Val  Anzasca,  Angust  3. 
[Postmark,  August  18,  1845.] 

Life  up  among  the  Hills  —  Presentations  to  Christ's 
Hospital — Personalities      .        .         .        Pp.  200-206 

LETTER   XXIL 

\_No  date.] 

Symbolism  a  Dangerous  Plaything — Careless  Reasoning 
in  Symbolism — The  Choice  of  Symbolisms 

Pp.  209-210 


LETTERS   TO   A   COLLEGE 
FRIEND 

I. 

Oxford,  June  17  [1840?]. 

My  dear  C 

I  owe  you  twenty  thousand  apolo- 
gies for  not  having  answered  your  letter 
sooner,  and  countless  ones  for  forgetting 
your  subscription/  I  do  not  usually 
give  so  much  trouble  in  matters  of  this 
kind.  I  have  got  into  a  train  of  work 
which  leaves  me  less  time  than  ever — 
because  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to 
preserve  my  eyes,  which  are  weak,  that 

'  Post-office  shut,  couldn't  get  it ;  will  send  it 
without  fail  on  Monday  or  Tuesday.  (These  words 
were  inserted  later  on. — Ed.) 


2  Occupations  for    the   Day 

I  should  not  use  them  long  at  one  time 
on  delicate  work  or  subject.  Now, 
while  the  Academy  is  open  and  I  am 
at  home,  I  have  to  go  into  town  every 
day  to  study  Turner ;  this  knocks  off 
much  of  the  forenoon.  Then  I  have  to 
write  down  what  I  have  learned  from 
him.  Then  I  like  every  fine  day  to  get 
a  little  bit  of  close,  hard  study  from 
nature  ;  if  not  out  of  doors,  I  bring  in 
a  leaf  or  plant  for  foreground  and  draw 
that.  This  necessarily  leads  me  to  the 
ascertainino-  of  botanical  names  and  a 
little  microscopic  botany.  Then  I  don't 
like  to  pass  a  day  without  adding  to 
my  knowledge  of  historical  painting, 
especially  of  the  early  school  of  Italy  : 
this  commonly  involves  a  little  bit  of 
work  from  Raffaelle,  and  some  histor- 
ical reading,  which  brings  me  into  the 
wilderness  of  the  early  Italian  Republics, 


Occupations  for  the   Day  3 

and  involves  me  also  in  ecclesiastical 
questions,  requiring  reading  of  the 
Fathers  (which,  however,  I  have  not  en- 
tered on  yet,  but  am  about  to  do  so) 
and  investigation  of  the  relig'ious  tenets 
and  feelings  of  all  the  branches  of  the 
Early  Church.  Then  a  little  anatomy 
is  indispensable,  and  much  study  of  tech- 
nical matters — management  of  colours, 
composition,  etc.  With  all  this,  which 
would  keep  my  head  a  great  deal  too 
much  upon  art,  I  must  have  a  corrective. 
This  comes  in  the  shape  of  geology, 
which  necessarily  leads  me  into  che- 
mistry, and  this  latter  is  not  a  thing  to 
read  a  bit  of  now  and  then,  but  requires 
hard  reading  and  much  learning  by 
rote ;  and  organic  chemistry  has  made 
such  advances  of  late  that  it  has  become 
intensely  interesting,  and  draws  me  on 
more   than    it   ought.     With    chemistry 


4  Occupations  for  the  Day 

and  mineralogy,  which,  though  they  go 
together,  are  totally  distinct  in  the  char- 
acters (of  substances)  considered,  I  am 
compelled  to  look  at  comparative  ana- 
tomy, especially  of  fishes,  in  order  to  have 
some  acquaintance  with  the  fossil  char- 
acters of  rocks.  Then  I  do  not  like  to 
give  up  my  Greek  altogether,  or  I  should 
entirely  forget  it.  I,  therefore,  think 
myself  very  wrong  if  I  do  not  read  a 
little  bit  of  Plato  very  accurately  every 
day  ;  and  reading  Plato  necessarily  in- 
volves some  thought  of  something  more 
than  language.  Finally,  as  in  pur- 
suit of  the  ancient  school  of  religious 
painting,  I  must  necessarily  go  to  Italy,' 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should 
know  Italian  well ;  so  that  I  have  to  read 

^  (This  reference  is  probably  to  the  first  journey,  in 
the  autumn  of  1840,  into  Italy,  when  he  travelled 
with  his  parents  by  the  Loire  and  Ri\'iera  to  Rome. 
See  "  Essay  and  Letters." — Ed.) 


Occupations  for  thf   Day  5 

a  little  Tasso  every  day,  which  I  do 
with  difficulty,  never  having  looked  at 
the  language  till  a  month  or  two  back  ; 
and  I  cannot  suffer  myself  entirely  to 
forget  my  French. 

Now,  just  lay  out  a  day  for  yourself 
with  these  subjects  of  study,  and  pre- 
suppose the  necessity  of  much  walking 
exercise  for  health,  and  see  if  there  is 
much  time  left  for  driving  about  the 
country  ;  because  a  day  lost  with  me  is 
lost  indeed,  for  I  cannot  work  double 
tides  before  or  afterwards,  owing  to  the 
weakness  of  my  eyes.  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  being  so  egotistical,  but  I  was  obliged 
to  tell  you  what  I  had  to  do,  or  you  would 
have  thought  I  was  humbugging  you. 

I  am  keeping  term  here,  go  over  to 
Blenheim  as  often  as  I  can,  where  there 
is  a  most  pure  and  instructive  Raffaelle 
of  his  early  time  -painted  at  Perugia — I 


6  The   Blenheim  Raffaeli.f. 

don't  think  there  is  such  another  in 
England.  I  wish  I  could  see  your 
woodcarving.  Where  is  East  Grins- 
stead  ? 

\Lctlcr  Unfiiushcd\ 


II. 

[Postmark,  Camberwell  Green, 

_7»(y  4,  1840]. 

Sir, 

It  is  altogether  impossible  that  you 
can  have  any  moral  perception  of  the 
value  of  coins  in  general,  and  pence  in 
particular — that  you  can  have  formed 
any  distinct  ideas  of  the  functions  of 
pence — of  their  design — and  influence  on 
society.  You  never  can  have  weighed 
one  in  your  hand — suspended  it  between 
your  forefinger  and  thumb — felt  that  it 
was  an  ounce  of  copper — remembered 
that  it  was  four  farthings — or  computed 
that  eleven  encores  would  make  it  a 
shilling !  a  Scotch  pound !  a  piece  of 
silver  !  a  bob  ! 

Have  you  ever  reflected  that,  in  order 


8  The   Evolution  of  a  Pf.nny 

to  your  possession  of  it,  currents  of  silent 
lightninc;"  have  been  rushing'  through  the 
inmost  mass  of  the  oflobe  since  the 
foundation  of  its  hills  was  laid — that 
chasms  have  been  cloven  upwards 
through  its  adamant,  with  the  restless 
electric  fire  gleaming  along  their  crystal- 
line sides,  folded  in  purple  clouds  of 
metallic  vapour — that  to  obtain  it  for 
you  the  sepulchral  labour  of  a  thousand 
arms  has  penetrated  the  recesses  of  the 
earth,  dashed  the  river  from  its  path, 
hurled  the  rock  from  its  seat,  sought  a 
way  beneath  the  waves  of  the  deep, 
heavy  sea!  For  you,  night  and  day, 
have  heaved  the  dark  limbs  of  the 
colossal  engine — its  deep,  fierce  breath 
has  risen  in  hot  pants  to  heaven — the 
crimson  furnace  has  illumined  midnight, 
shaken  its  fiery  hair  like  meteors  among 
the    stars — for    you — for  you.   to  abuse 


Reflexions  on  a   Penny  9 

and  waste   the   result  of  their  ceaseless 
labour ! 

Have  you  ever  sat  meditatively  in  a 
pastrycook's  shop,  with  no  selfish  or 
gluttonous  designs  upon  cheesecake  or 
ice,  but  to  watch  the  pale  faces  and 
sunken  eyes  which  pass  lingeringly 
before  the  window,  and  fall  upon  the 
consumers  of  the  fruits  of  earth,  half  in 
prayer,  and  half  in  accusation  ?  They 
have  no  conception  of  the  meaning  of 
the  various  devices  for  exciting  and  pam- 
pering the  gorged  appetite  ;  they  never 
tasted  such  things  in  their  lives  ;  they 
are  so  used  to  hunger  that  they  do  not 
know  what  taste  means !  But  they  gaze 
as  they  would  on  some  strange  Paradise, 
when  they  see  the  shadow^s  of  unknown 
delights — calls  upon  senses  whose  pos- 
session they  scarcely  knew.  Have  you 
watched   them  turning  away,   sick   with 


10     The   Purchasability  of  a  Penny 

famine,  weak  with  desire,  with  the  mild, 
sorrowful  look  of  subdued  reproach  at 
the  fixed  features  and  hard  brows 
within  (for  they  are  mere  children,  and 
have  not  learned  their  lessons  of  re- 
bellion against  God  and  man), — and  then 
reflected  that  there  was  but  the  width 
and  weight  of  a  penny  between  them 
and  the  door?  Have  you  seen  some 
less  pitiable  urchin,  one  who  has  some 
slight  conception  of  what  is  meant  by 
the  word  "tart,"  pause  before  the 
"  refuse  "  chair,  at  the  door,  to  eye  the 
variegated,  black,  burned  tin-tray,  with 
its  arranged  square  of  elliptical  rasp- 
berry tarts, — the  slightest,  the  very 
shadow  of  an  amicable  adherence  exist- 
ing between  them  and  the  tray  by 
means  of  the  rich  distillation  of  crimson, 
coagulated  juice,  and  their  crimped, 
undulating  edge  of  paste,  shaded  with 


"Half  a  Good  Samaritanship"       ii 

soft  brown  by  the  touch  of  the  con- 
siderate fire,  sinking-  gradually  beneath 
the  transparent,  granular,  ruby-tinted 
expanse  of  unimaginably  ambrosial  jam, 
— and  considered  that  a  penny  would 
enable  you  to  sever  that  juicy  connec- 
tion with  the  tin,  and  send  the  boy  away 
with  bright  eyes  and  elastic  step,  and 
mouth  open  with  wonder,  silent  with 
gratitude,  watering  with  anticipation  ? 
Sir,  you  have  sacrificed  half  a  Good 
Samaritanship  to  insult  your  friends 
with  letters  of  brown  paper.  I  have 
half  a  mind,  if  I  go  abroad  next 
year,  to  send  you  from  my  farthest 
point — say,  Naples — a  box  of  stones, 
3  ft.  by  4  —  by  land  —  carriage  not 
paid. 

But,  seriously,  is  that  all  you  can  make 
of  a  radish  ?  is  that  the  radish,  par 
excellence — the  belle  of  the  season,  the 


12  George  Herbert's   Poems 

favoured  first  class,  gifted,  flavoured, 
precocious,  pungent,  unrivalled  radish  ? 
If  it  be,  all  I  can  say  is,  it  must  have 
been  very  ill  on  the  road. 

Thank  you  for  your  sermon  about 
improper  jesting :  it  ivas  uncommonly 
wrong,  and  I  won't  do  so  no  more.  But 
what  do  you  mean  by  "one  of  us?"  Us! 
Who  is  "us  "  }  Are  you  turned  editor, 
or  reviewer,  or  Socialist,  or  Teetotaller, 
or  Mason,  or  member  of  the  H.  F.  Club  ? 
or  am  I  to  take  "us  "  as  a  noun  collec- 
tive— representing  a  class  of  persons 
who  make  their  friends  talk  nonsense 
whenever  they  come  near  them,  and 
pay  pence  for  sending  radishes  about 
the  country  in  brown  paper  } 

Seriously,  I  admire  George  Herbert 
above  everything,  and  shall  learn  "  The 
Church-porch "  by  heart  as  soon  as  I 
have  time ;  but  as  for  the  filthiness,  that 


George   Herbert's   Poems  13 

rests  with  the  bedmakers ;  and  the 
abusiveness,  with  the  interrogators  re- 
specting the  faggots  ; — and  Croly  may  be 
very  profane,  but  I  am  afraid  he  is  very 
true ;  however,  I  don't  hke  him  as  a 
clergyman,  and  should  like  to  hear  you 
preach  much  better. 

I  have  been  hard  at  work  with  Cocks, 
getting  him  to  believe  in  Turner  :  he  is 
coming  steadily  round  ;  clever  fellow ! 
will  soon  be  all  right.  He  is  going  up 
the  Nile  this  winter,  to  learn  to  eat  raw 
meat;  he'll  save  in  cooks  when  he 
comes  back,  provided  they  don't  cook 
him. 

I  have  seen  Newton  in  town,  who 
is  busy  giving  long  names  to  brass 
farthings,  and  putting  them  in  the 
British  Museum.  Acland,  I  had  a  day's 
sketching  with,  at  Oxford,  and  was  intro- 
duced to  Athlone's/b^^r/av^  dogs;  he  is 


14  Oxford  Chit-chat 

beginning  to  think  of  parting  with 
some.  Nothing-  new  at  Oxford,  except 
a  Christ  Church  man's  making  the  Proc- 
tor feel  the  value  of  pence  by  taking  him 
480  half-pence  by  way  of  a  sovereign 
fine,  and  remarking  to  him,  as  he  let 
go  the  handkerchief  which  contained 
them,  that  he'd  no  doubt  he  would  find 
them  all  right,  if  he'd  pick  them  up. 

This  was  done  once  before,  but,  by  all 
accounts,  not  so  effectively. 

I  am  reading  a  little,  but  dare  not  do 
anything  by  candle-light  (for  eyes),  which 
upsets  me  considerably.  Pray  excite  as 
kind  a  remembrance  of  me  among  your 
family  as  you  can,  when  you  write  home. 
I  hope  there  is  nothing  wrong  in  this 
letter;  tell  me  if  there  is,  Pll  do  better 
next  time;  only  remember  that  "  Hey.'^" 
when  distinctly  interrogative  is  HEY 
— not    EH,    which    is    an    interjection 


Personal  Analysis  15 

of  astonished  enquiry.  Seriously,  don't 
fancy  because  I  talk  lightly,  noiv  or  at 
other  times,  that  I  have  no  feeling.  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you. — Ever  truly 
your  friend, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


III. 

[Postmark,  July  31,  1840]. 

My  dear  Mr.   Perfect  Addition, 

I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  very 
oracular  and  mysterious  in  your  re- 
sponses to  a  plain  question.  I  ask  you 
— with  no  feeling  of  indignation  what- 
soever, but  with  most  marked  feelings 
of  curiosity — what  you  consider  your- 
self, what  learned  and  worshipful  society 
you  allude  to,  when  you  talk  about  "us  ;" 
and  you  tell  me  this  is  a  highly  improper 
time  for  asking  such  a  question,  and 
that  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to 
make  me  understand  anything  about 
your  club,  and  that  you  are  not  capable 
of  doing  anything  but  "communicating 
ideas."     I  wish  in  the  name  of  all  that's 


"Perfect  Additions"  17 

mystical  you  would  do  that,  for  you 
have  not  communicated  anything  like 
an  idea  to  me  of  what  you  mean, 
unless,  indeed,  from  one  comparatively 
intelligible  sentence :  "  You  should  be 
a  perfect  addition,  and,  therefore,  I 
am  bold  to  say,  you  should  be  one 
of  us,''  from  which  I  think  I  may 
legitimately  conjecture  that  you  con- 
sider yourself  a  "perfect  addition"  of 
something  or  other — that  you  are  a 
society  of  "perfect  additions,"  that 
you  are  all  qtiite  perfect  additions, 
and  that  Mother  Earth  should  have 
been  patted  on  the  head  for  a  good 
girl  when  she  cast  you  up ;  and  I 
suppose  you  call  yourselves  the  Wor- 
shipful Society  of  Sums  —  of  perfect 
Sums — or  Hums — or  something  of  that 
kind.  But  I  beg  you  will  be  more  ex- 
planatory next  time,  for  I  am  not  at  all 

B 


i8  Derbyshire  Minerals 

clear  about  the  character  of  walking- 
sums  any  more  than  Oliver  Twist, 
when,  being  suddenly  informed  that  the 
"  Board  was  waiting  for  him,"  he  en- 
gaged in  that  most  interesting  medita- 
tion concerning  the  probable  appearance 
of  a  "live  board." 

I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  are  going 
into  Cumberland  and  Derbyshire,  though 
you  have  surely  been  in  Cumberland 
often  before.  In  Derbyshire  take  care 
to  buy  no  minerals  for  Mdlle.  Emily 
(of  whose  improvement  in  health  I  am 
very  glad  to  hear),  for  there  is  not  a 
single  Derbyshire  mineral  worth  car- 
riage— except,  by-the-by,  the  mineral 
Bitumen,  elastic  asphaltum,  of  Castleton, 
of  which  take  her  a  large  piece,  for  it  is 
found  nowhere  else  in  England,  nor, 
indeed,  in  the  same  way,  anywhere. 
See    Castleton,    and   the   Peak  Cavern, 


Derbyshire  and  Cumberland         iq 

and  as  many  other  caverns  as  you  have 
time  for  :  they  are  the  only  things  in 
Derbyshire  of  real  interest ;  and  walk 
up  Dovedale,  on  a  fine  day,  without  ex- 
pecting much  from  it.  So  shall  you  be 
well  pleased,  particularly  if  you  glance 
at  the  end  of  Isaac  Walton  before 
your  perambulations  ;  but  if,  instead  of 
Izaak,  you  take  up  a  guide-book,  and 
so  acquire  an  echo  of  "stupendous, 
overwhelming,  sublime,  terrific,  and 
astonishing,"  to  hum  in  your  ears  all 
the  way,  you  are  done  for.  There 
is  nothing  above  the  pretty  in  any  part 
of  Dovedale. 

In  Cumberland  everybody  climbs 
Skiddaw — so,  of  course,  you  will,  if  you 
can.  Ascend  the  following  mountains 
also  :  Helvellyn,  Cawsey  Pike,  Scawfell, 
Langdale  Pikes,  Coniston  Man,  and  the 
Pillar     of     Ennerdale,       Do    not    miss 


20      Mountain-climbing  in  Lakeland 

Helvellyn  on  any  account,  and  go  up  on 
the  Tliirliuerc  side,  descending  to  Patter- 
dale  if  you  like,  but  on  no  account 
ascending  from  Patterdale.  I  could  tell 
you  why  if  I  had  room,  which  I  haven't, 
so  trust  me. 

The  other  peaks  are  named  in  the 
order  of  their  claims  to  ascent.  I  think 
very  highly  of  the  view  from  Cawsey 
Pike.  The  Pillar  I  have  not  myself 
ascended,  but  I  know  so  many  places 
from  which  it  is  seen,  that  the  view 
must  be  very  fine.  Take  care  and  don't 
break  your  legs  or  nose  on  Scawfell  : 
he  is  an  awkward  fellow,  and  you  may 
stick  between  his  loose  rocks  like  Gul- 
liver in  the  marrow-bone.' 

When  you  are  at  Keswick,  and  in- 
clined for  a  long  walk,  go  up  by  the 
meadows  behind  Wallacrag,  till  you  get 
•  (Cf.  "  Gulliver's  Travels." — Ed.) 


The  Best  Views  of  Derwentwater  21 

near  its  top  ;  keep  straight  on  the  top  of 
the  crags  towards  the  head  of  the  lake, 
catching  the  views  of  Derwentwater 
down  the  ravines — which,  if  it  be  not 
cloudy,  are  the  finest  things  in  the 
neighbourhood.  When  you  have  passed 
the  top  of  the  crag  keep  to  your  right  a 
little,  as  if  you  wanted  to  get  down  to 
the  shore  ;  and  don't  slip,  for  it  is  very 
smooth  and  steep,  and,  once  off,  you 
would  either  roll  into  the  lake  or  get  a 
most  disagreeable  bruising  on  a  dSris 
of  crag  at  the  bottom.  In  a  little  while 
you  will  come  to  a  cart-road  :  follow  it 
np  to  your  left  till  you  come  to  a  stone 
bridge.  Sit  down  on  the  rocks  above  it 
— or  in  the  water,  if  you  like  it  better — 
and  eat  your  lunch  ;  and  when  you  have 
done,  look  about  you.  For,  of  all  the 
landscapes  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  I  think 
the  view  of  Derwentwater  and  Skiddaw 


22  SoUTHEY*S    FaVOURITE    ViEW 

from  that  spot,  with  the  bridge  for  a 
front  object,  is  the  best  piece  of  com- 
position. When  you  have  rested,  go  up 
further  still.  The  cart-road  will  take  you 
over  the  crags  above  Lodore,  on  which 
you  may  sit  and  kick  your  heels  a  little 
longer  ;  and  mind  the  ants,  for  they  are 
very  big.  When  you  have  got  down  to 
the  stream  of  Lodore,  you  will  get  the 
view  of  the  lake  through  the  chasm — 
a  favourite  bit  of  Southey's,  and  very 
tolerable  indeed.  Then  walk  up  to 
Watendlath,  and  when  you  have  seen 
the  Tarn,  back  to  Lodore,  and  boat  it 
up  to  Keswick.  I  shall  not  tell  you 
any  more,  because  I  know  travellers 
always  take  their  own  way,  whatever 
advice  they  get. 

You  say,  "  1  have  not  been  guilty 
of  apologising  for  delay."  Of  course 
not,  for  the  sin  is  double  :  first  keeping 


Rules  for  Correspondence  23 

a  man  in  suspense,  and  then  wasting 
half  your  penny's  worth  of  paper  in 
trying  to  persuade  him  you  couldn't 
help  it.  I  don't  mean  •A\\y\\\\\\'g  personal, 
it  is  a  most  general  remark  ;  but,  how- 
ever, between  people  who  call  them- 
selves correspondents,  I  think  twelve 
letters  a  year — six  each  —  the  fewest 
that  can  pass.  Consequently,  on  the 
day  month  after  the  receipt  of  a  letter, 
an  apology  will  become  due  ;  which,  if  it 
does  with  you,  will  you  have  the  kind- 
ness to  cut  the  apology,  and  put  *'  B," 
for  "bad,"  at  the  top  of  the  page? 
whereby  I  shall  know  you  are  sensible 
of  your  delinquency,  and  we  shall  both 
economise — you  in  gammon  and  I  in  cre- 
dulity— of  which,  considering  that  you  are 
going  to  make  me  subscribe  to  the  public 
dinners  of  the  "Perfect  Additions,"  we 
may  neither  of  us  have  much  to  spare. 


24    The   Results  of  Christian   I^uriai, 

I  have  not  been  to  see  the  fossil-child  ; 
because  a  good,  respectable,  well-con- 
ducted monkey  looks  so  very  infantine 
when  it  gets  fossilized  that,  unless  I  got 
the  bones  out,  I  miohtn't  know  the 
difference.  And,  again — there  is  nothing 
extraordinary  in  the  skeleton  of  a  human 
being  found  in  any  of  the  later  rocks, 
which  are  forming  at  the  present 
moment.  The  odd  thing  would  be  if 
it  were  not  occasionally  so. 

When  we  are  put  into  graves,  and 
get  what  people  call  "Christian  burial," 
we  go  to  powder  in  no  time,  and  are 
sucked  up  by  the  buttercups  and  daisies 
on  the  top  of  the  graves  ;  and  then  the 
sheep  eat  us,  and  we  go  to  assist  at  our 
friends'  dinners  in  the  shape  of  mutton  ; 
or  we  are  diluted  with  rain-water,  and 
so  go  soaking  through  the  earth  till 
we  come  out   in    mineral    springs,    and 


Fossilized  Humanity  25 

everybody  drinks  us,  and  says,  "How 
nice !  "  But  if  we  are  not  buried  in  a 
respectable  way — if  we  tumble  down 
Niagara,  or  sink  in  an  Irish  bog,  or 
get  lost  in  a  coal-hole,  or  smothered  in  a 
sand-pit — the  earth  takes  care  of  us,  and 
bitumenises,  or  carbonises,  or  calcines, 
or  chalcedonises,  until  we  are  as  durable 
as  rock  itself;  and  then,  if  we  have  the 
luck  to  get  picked  up  and  put  in  a 
museum,  we  may  stand  there  and  grin 
out  of  the  limestone  with  quite  as  good 
a  grace  as  a  mammoth  or  ichthyosaurus. 

But  although  we  are  found  fossil  in 
the  rocks  now  forming,  we  are  not  in 
older  formations  ;  and  if  you  were  to  tell 
me  of  a  fossil  child  found  in  clay  slate, 
I  would  go  and  look  at  it — but  you 
won't,  in  a  hurry. 

I  wrote  you  immediately  because  my 
letter  would  be  too  latt\  if  you  set  off 


26  Personalities 

beginning"  of  next  month,  unless  I  wrote 
instantly  ;  but  I  don't  intend  to  write 
again  for  two  months,  for  I  am  reading 
hard — and  you,  as  you  will  be  wandering 
and  have  wet  days  and  nothing  to  do 
with  yourself,  should  write  at  least  once  in 
three  weeks,  I  think — but  I  suppose  you 
don't ;  however,  whatever  you  do  write 
will  be  thankfully  received.  My  father 
and  mother  send  kindest  compliments. 
Remember  me  in  your  next  letter  to  all 
at  Twickenham.     Believe  me. 

Ever  most  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


Notwithstanding  all  this  stuff,  believe 
me,  I  am  much  obliged  for  your  interest ; 
and,  when  I  have  more  time,  shall  be 
very  glad  for  all  encouragement  in  a 
path    of    life    which    requires    all     the 


The  Keswick  Guide  27 

resolution  of  a  man's  character.  Wright 
at  Keswick  knows  more  about  the 
country  than  any  other  guide  ;  but  don't 
beheve  all  he  tells  you  about  anything 
but  rocks. 


IV. 

[Postmark,  Sept.  i,  1840]. 

Dear  Incomprehensible  C 

Of  a  verity  I  am  sorry  you  feel 
my  letters  overwhelming  ;  the  last  was 
rather  formidable — I  will  be  more  mo- 
derate. As  to  your  going  up  Helvellyn 
in  rain,  it  would  have  ended  in  your 
dropping  over  Striden  Edge,  and  getting 
set  to  music  by  the  Poet  Laureate,  with 
a  dog  and  a  wolf,  or  some  such  re- 
spectable company,  as  they  did  the 
stocking-manufacturer,  or  whatever  he 
was,  with  his  sentimental  dog — only  you 
hadn't  a  dog.  Do  you  remember  Scott's 
lines  ?  They  all  had  a  touch  at  him — 
Wordsworth  the  best  on  the  w^hole. 
Scott    had    some    prettinesses :    "  How 


Lakeland  29 

long  did'st  thou  think  that  his  silence 
was  slumber,"  &c. — but  ends  always 
with  something  about  "  Catchedicam." 
They  might  well  say  he  had  no  musical 
ear  ;  fancy  bringing  such  a  heathenish 
piece  of  nomenclature  as  that  into  a 
respectable  lyric ! 

Well,  I  am  glad  you  crossed  Styehead  ; 
but  what  piggish  places  those  lakes  are  ! 
If  you  are  an  antiquary  you  must  have 
noticed  some  connection  with  a  boar,  or 
pig,  or  sow,  in  half  the  names  of  the 
country.  Did  you  look  for  the  garnets  ? 
or  did  I  tell  you  there  are  plenty  of  them 
by  the  side  of  the  road  ?  Wastwater — 
unless  on  a  very  fine  day — is  a  very  black 
hole — nothing  of  a  lake ;  but  I  have 
seen  more  beautiful  atmospheric  effects 
on  the  Screes  above  than  on  any  hills 
in  the  country.  What  were  you  doing 
at    Penrith?      It    is    not    the    way    to 


30         The  Caverns  of  Derryshire 

Derbyshire,  nor  a  very  interesting  place 
in  itself,  except  for  the  view  of  Saddle- 
back, as  it  is  vilely  called— 6'/<f?;'^-w^?'^, 
as  the  Lake  Poets  call  it — which  is  mo- 
notonous. There  is  another  name  which 
I  forget ;  but  it  is  a  noble  hill,  a  glorious 
hill,  an  Olympian  mountain — but  deuced 
boggy. 

I  beg  the  Perfect  Addition's  pardon  ; 
but  it  is  deuced,  and  very  uncomfortable 
walking. 

I  hope  you  saw  the  caverns  of  Derby- 
shire thoroughly.  They  are  really  in- 
teresting, and  don't  want  fine  weather  ; 
and  I  hope  you  didn't  tallow  your  coat- 
tails.  How  "precious  green"  daylight 
looks  when  you  have  been  an  hour  or 
two  holding  a  candle  to  dripping, 
bilious  looking  stalagmites,  and  twisting 
your  neck  this  way  and  that  way  to  see 
how  very  like  a  whale  they  are.      I  can't 


Smollett  and  Fielding  31 

inquire  after  some  places  in  the  Peak. 
As  Winifred  Jenkins  says,  "  I  can't 
pollewt  my  pen  " — though,  by-the-bye, 
you  may  find  every  piece  of  coarseness 
coined  in  the  United  Kingdom  in  that 
book.  I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me. 
understand  the  feelings  of  men  of 
magnificent  wit  and  intellect,  like 
Smollett  and  Fielding,  when  I  see  them 
gloating  over  and  licking  their  chops 
over  nastiness,  like  hungry  dogs  over 
ordure  ;  founding  one  half  of  the  laugh- 
able matter  of  their  volumes  in  innuen- 
does of  abomination.  Not  that  I  think, 
as  many  people  do,  they  are  bad  books  ; 
for  I  don't  think  these  pieces  of  open 
filth  are  in  reality  injurious  to  the  mind, 
or,  at  least,  as  injurious  as  corrupt 
sentiment  and  disguised  immorality, 
such  as  you  get  sometimes  in  Bulwer 
and  men   of  his  school.      But   I   cannot 


32  Plans  for  Travelling 

7mdcr stand  the  taste.  I  can't  imagine 
why  men  who  have  real  wit  at  their 
command  ^o\AA  perftime  it  as  they  do. 

Have  you  any  commands  for  Naples  ? 
for  I  hope  to  be  there  before  Christ- 
mas ;  we  intend  to  start  for  Boulogne 
on  Tuesday  fortnight,  and  go  through 
Normandy  and  Auvergne  leisurely,  so 
to  Marseilles  and  Genoa — very  pleasant, 
isn't  it  ?  I  have  thrown  up  reading 
altogether — partly  for  eyes,  partly  be- 
cause a  little  more  blood  came  from 
my  chest  the  other  night,  and  Sir  James 
Clarke  insists  on  it.  I  hope  to  bring 
home  quantities  of  sketches  —  fresh 
health — and  a  quantity  of  nonchalance  as 
to  Oxford  examinations. 

I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Aristotle  was  a  muddle-head.  If  you 
would  like  to  know  why,  I  will  tell  you 
in  my  next.     You  may  depend  upon  it, 


Aristotle  seen  in  a   New  Light     33 

the  people  who  cry  him  up  don't  under- 
stand a  word  of  him.     The  fellow  who 
has  edited  my  edition  has  written  such 
prodigious   nonsense   by   way   of  notes, 
that   I    take    up    the    "Ethics"  when    I 
want  a  laugh,   as   I   would   Moliere.      I 
don't   mean    to    say   that  Aristotle   was 
not    what    Lord    Verisopht '    considered 
Shakespeare,  "a  clayver  man."    I  simply 
mean   to   say  he   has   muddled   himself, 
and   many  as   clear    heads    as    his   own 
into  the  bargain.      If  they  read  him  as 
they  ought  at  the   University — that   is, 
telling  the  student  to  find  out  what  was 
nonsense  and  what  was  falsehood,  and 
learn     the     rest    by    heart  —  no     very 
heavy    task — they   would    do    good,   for 
what  is  good  of  the   "Ethics"   is  very 
good ;    but    as    they    do    at    present — 
reading  as  if  it  were  all  gospel — I  am 

^  (Cf.  "  Nicholas  Nickleby."— Eu.) 


34  Wintering  in  Italy 

certain  it  does  as  much  harm  as 
good. 

If  I  can  get  over  to  Richmond  before 
I  start  I  shall  call  at  Twickenham,  and 
enquire  if  I  can  bring  over  any  little 
tiny  kickshaw  of  antiquity  from  Italy 
for  the  top  of  your  filigree  cabinet,  or 
the  inside  of  Mdlle.  Emily's  more  philo- 
sophical and  respectable  one  ;  but  if  I 
am  not  heard  of  within  that  time,  apo- 
logise for  me,  as  I  have  much  to 
do  preparing  suddenly  for  a  winter  in 
Italy. 

I  have  thrown  up  St.  James  Street, 
so  direct  to  Heme  Hill,  near  Dulwich, 
London  ;  and  mind  this — put  a  cross  as 
big  as  that^  opposite  the  stamp,  for  as 
I  receive  a  quantity  of  rubbish-letters 
now — and  don't  intend   to  pay  postage 

1  (The  cross,  being  merely  a  rough  scrawl,  is  not 
reproduced. — Ed.) 


Epistolary  Distinctions  35 

for  nothing — any  letters  ?/;/crossed  will 
not  be  forwarded  to  me. 

I  mean  by  opposite,  the  stamp  on 
the  other  side  of  the  direction. — Ever 
very  truly  yours, 

J.   RUSKIN. 


V. 

Friday,  Jith  Sept.  [1840?]. 


Dear  C- 


When  I  o-et  once  abroad  I  shall 
have  so  much  generalising  and  sketch- 
ing, that  I  shall  be  unable  to  write  many 
letters,  so  I  put  you  in  debt  before 
starting.  First,  to  say  that  you  ought 
to  congratulate  yourself  on  my  ortho- 
graphy— it  was  lucky  I  didn't  put  warm- 
ing-pan. Secondly,  that  you  would  not 
have  been  surprised  at  this  escapade 
of  mine  had  you  heard  Sir  J.  Clarke's 
positive  "  Sir,  if  you  go  on  till  October 
you'll  get  your  death  before  you  get 
your  degree — "  under  which  circum- 
stances, of  course,  I  care  very  little 
about   Dean  or  anyone  else.     I  simply 


The  Object  of  High  Art  37 

send  them  fine  medical  certificates,  lock 
up  my  books,  and  start.  Thirdly,  to 
assure  you  your  Nap.  soap  shall  be  taken 
great  care  of.  Fourthly,  to  thank  your 
brother  for  his  notice.  Fifthly,  to  tell  you 
to  blow  up  your  spectacle-maker,  and 
not  me,  for  the  deficiency  of  Gothic 
work  on  the  Carlisle  house  ;  and  sixthly, 
to  put  down  a  few  remarks — in  serious 
deprecation  of  your  worship's  indigna- 
tion— which,  as  you  are  drawing  a  good 
deal  from  nature,  may  perhaps  be  of 
some  interest  to  you  ;  and  if  you  don't 
take  the  trouble  to  read  them,  it  will 
do  7ne  good  to  arrange  them  and  put 
them  down. 

The  object  of  high  art  is  to  address 
the  feelings  through  the  intellect.  It 
will  not  do  to  address  the  feelings, 
unless  it  be  through  this  medium — still 
less,    to     address     the    intellect    alone. 


38  What  Art  should  Convey 

Consequently  the  mere  conveying  of  a 
certain  quantity  of  technical  knowledge 
respecting  any  given  scene  can  never 
be  the  object  of  art.  Its  aim  is  not  to 
tell  me  how  many  bricks  there  are  in  a 
wall,  nor  how  many  posts  in  a  fence, 
but  to  convey  as  much  as  possible  the 
general  emotions  arising  out  of  the  real 
scene  into  the  spectator's  mind. 

Whether  these  emotions  are  conveyed 
by  the  same  means  signifies  little,  but 
they  must  be  the  same  emotions  ;  and  I 
do  not  mean  merely  a  sensation  of 
sublimity,  or  beauty,  or  generality  of 
any  kind,  but  the  particular  feeling  and 
character  of  the  place, — the  pervading 
spirit,  with  as  much  of  detail  as  is  con- 
sistent with  it.  Have  you  not  sometimes 
wondered  why,  if  the  object  of  art  be 
mere  servility  of  imitation  of  nature, 
there  were  as  many  styles  as  there  were 


Artists  and  their  Individualities    39 

great  artists?  The  true  reason  is  that 
each  great  artist  conveys  to  you,  not  so 
much  the  scene,  as  the  impression  of  the 
scene,  on  his  own  originality  of  mind. 
Ruysdael  looks  to  nature  for  her  fresh- 
ness and  purity, — Rubens  for  her  glory 
of  colour, — Poussin  for  her  tumult, — Sal- 
vator  for  her  energy, — Claude  for  her 
peace, — Turner  (I  rise  to  a  climax)  for 
her  mystery  and  divinity. 

And  each  of  these  throw  out  of  their 
studies  from  nature  whatever  has  a 
tendency  to  destroy  purity,  or  colour,  or 
energy,  or  peace,  or  mystery. 

Now,  when  you  sit  down  to  sketch 
from  nature  you  are  not  to  compose  a 
scene — as  you  insinuate  against  me — 
from  materials  before  you.  Still  less 
are  you  to  count  stones,  or  measure 
angles.  You  are  to  imbue  your  mind 
with  the  peculiar  spirit  of  the  place,     (If 


40    The   Ethics  of  Portrait  Painting 

it  has  none,  it  is  not  worth  sketching.) 
You  are  to  give  this  spirit,  at  all  risks, 
by  any  means  ;  and  if  it  depends  upon 
accessories  which  you  cannot  represent 
truly,  you  must  lie  up  to  them  in  some 
way  or  another,  always  preserving  as 
much  technicality  as  you  have  time  for, 
and  as  is  in  harmony  with  your  general 
intention. 

If  you  ask  any  portrait-painter  how 
he  gets  his  likeness,  he  will  tell  you, 
.it  is  not  by  attention  to  the  form  of 
particular  features— the  technicality  of 
countenance — but  by  aiming  first  at  the 
marked  expression  of  the  individual 
character,  then  touching  in  the  features 
over  this. 

Now,  for  instance,  in  my  Coniston 
cottage,'  it  happened,  from  the  point 
where    I    sat,    that    I   could   not   see  an 

'  (Cf.  '' Poetry  of  Architecture." — Ed.) 


The  Power  of  Association  41 

inch  of  mountain  over  the  trees.  I  have, 
nevertheless,  put  in  the  whole  mass  of  the 
Old  Man — why  ?  Because  the  eye,  in 
reality,  falls  on  that  cottage  when  it  is  full 
of  the  forms  and  feeling  of  mountain 
scenery,  and  judges  by  comparison  with 
it ;  it  feels  its  peculiar  beauty  only  as 
a  mountain  cottage,  and  can  return  to 
a  mountain  by  turning  an  eighth  of  the 
compass.  But  1  cannot  turn  you  in  a 
single  sketch  ;  I  cannot  give  you  the 
feelino-  that  it  is  a  bit  of  mountain 
scenery,  without  giving  you  a  single 
touch  of  mountain  blue,  I  am,  therefore, 
in  conscience,  telling  less  of  a  lie  by 
raising  the  Old  Man  a  thousand  feet, 
than  by  giving  to  the  eye  the  idea  of  a 
lowland  cottage. 

Another  character  of  this  cottage  is 
seclusion.  The  turnpike  road  was  a 
violation  of  this  ;    I   turned  it  out  of  my 


42  Essentials  in  Sketches 

way,  or,  rather,  did  what  you  might  have 
done — leaped  the  wall,  and  sketched 
with  my  back  to  it. 

Well,  if  you  have  time  to  turn  over  the 
subject  in  your  mind,  I  think  you  will 
find  some  truth  in  these  principles  ;  and 
you  will  soon  emancipate  yourself  from 
any  idea  that  artists'  sketches  are  to  be 
mere  camera-lucidas,  mere  transcripts  of 
mechanism  and  measurement.  It  is  of 
no  consequence  to  any  mortal  that 
there  is  a  cottage  eighteen  feet  high  by 
twenty-five  broad,  with  a  wall  three 
bricks  thick,  and  trees  thirty  years  old 
and  eighteeen  inches  round  ;  but  it  is — 
or  may  be — of  some  interest  to  know 
that  there  is  a  piece  of  secluded  cottage 
feeling  by  Coniston  Water,  or  that  such 
and  such  a  character  is  peculiar  to  the 
cottages  of  the  Lakes. 

As  for  writing,  I   do  not  know  exactly 


License   in  Composition  43 

where  I  am  going  ;  but  if  you  write  to 
Heme  Hill,  with  a  cross,  your  letters 
will  always  be  forwarded. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  I  think  you 
deserve  great  credit  for  finding  the 
places  at  all,  especially  Carlisle  ;  it  shows 
you  a  use  of  spouts,  which  I  suppose  is 
new  to  you. 

And  I  do  not  mean  to  advocate 
violent  innovation  where  the  subject  is 
entirely  architectural.  The  Gothic  work 
is  on  the  house — 'pon  honour  ! — but  it 
is  so  black  and  smoky,  that  I  do  not 
wonder  at  your  not  making  it  out.  And 
there  is  a  good  medium.  One  side  of 
Front's  drawings  is  generally  sheer  com- 
position ;  this  is  going  too  far  for  a  man 
who  can't  compose.  Turner  is  very  faith- 
ful, but  he  is  the  only  man  alive  who 
can  be  faithful  and  yet  preserve  char- 
acter ;    and    you    know    even  he    thinks 


44  "Friendship's  Offering" 

nothing  of  cutting  an  island  out  of  the 
Thames  when  it  is  in  his  way. 

When  the  day  of  pubHcation  comes,  a 
Friendship's  Offering'  will  be  sent  to 
Twickenham,  as  I  shall  leave  orders 
with  publisher,  and  crave  you  to  allow  it 
room  in  your  bookcase,  as  there  is  much 
lucubration  of  mine  therein. 

Write  me  as  often  as  you  can. — Ever 
very  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  unable  to  get 
to  Twickenham  :  it  is  heavy  work  pre- 
paring in  a  week  or  two  for  a  year 
abroad. 

'  (The  volume  for  1841  contained  "  The  Tears  of 
Psammenitus,"  "  The  Two  Paths,"  "  The  Old  Water- 
wheel,"  "Farewell!"  "The  Departed  Light,"  and 
"  Agonia."  Cf.  "  Poems  of  John  Raskin,"  published 
in  complete  form  in  1891. — Eu.) 


VI. 

Rome,  December  3,  1840. 


Dear  C- 


Since  I  started,  in  a  very  blowy 
day,  from  Dover,  I  have  sent  off  some 
dozen  of  diaries  to  people  on  post  paper, 
for  which  I  have  not  as  yet  got  a  grain 
of  thanks,  and  I  have  received  two 
letters  from  you,  whom  I  have  hitherto 
neglected,  for  which  I  infinitely  thank 
you  ;  for  there  are  few  things  more 
melancholy  than  jostling  through  a  set 
of  black-whiskered  blackguards,  every 
one  of  whom  look  as  if  they  would 
enjoy  putting  you  in  a  pie  and  eating 
you — a  group  of  strange,  foreign,  hea- 
thenish faces  and  dresses — up  to  the 
window  of  the  post-office,  and  turning 


46  Aids  to  Happiness 

back  into  the  crowd  without  one  single 
witness  of  memory  from  England. 

One  never  feels  so  far  from  home  as 
in  the  first  pause  of  meditation  upon 
possible  accidents  to  the  mail.  I  am 
quite  tired  of  telling  people  what  I  have 
been  about — which,  by-the-by,  is  not 
always  the  most  interesting  topic  to  the 
reader,  unless  he  be  one's  particular 
friend,  though  I  shall  venture  upon  it 
with  you,  after  refreshing  myself  with 
a  little  chat  about  the  water-colour 
society. 

You  ask  about  a  water-colour  master, 
with  some  little  scruple  about  time 
and  expense.  I  am  quite  certain  that 
neither  time  nor  expense,  within  certain 
limits,  can  be  employed  with  greater 
certainty  of  redounding  in  the  end  to 
your  own  usefulness  and  happiness  than 
in   raising  your  feeling  and  taste — that 


Perception  of  the  Beautiful        47 

is,  your  perception  of  the  Beautiful. 
For  the  end  of  study  in  us  who  are  not 
to  be  artists  is  not  to  be  able  to  bring 
home  from  Wales  or  Derbyshire  out- 
lines of  cottaofes  or  mill-wheels  enouo-h 
to  occupy  the  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
dinner  with  chit-chat,  but  to  receive, 
what  I  am  persuaded  God  means  to 
be  the  second  source  of  happiness  to 
man — the  impression  of  that  mystery 
which,  in  our  total  ignorance  of  its 
nature,  we  call  "  beauty."  It  is  the 
Qeiopia  of  Aristotle ;  and  w^ien  purely 
founded — which  it  cannot  be  without 
some  care  and  some  study — will  most 
certainly  last  us  when  every  other 
passion  has  passed  away  into  the  mist 
of  extreme  old  aore.  with  unabated 
power ;  and,  in  all  probability,  will  retain 
its  influence  in  all  stages  of  existence 
of  which  a  pure  spirit  is  capable.     That 


48  Lessons   in  Art 

study  of  all  art  is  nothing  but  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  feeling  for  the  beautiful, 
and  knowledge  of  its  principles,  you 
either  know,  or  will  know  very  soon. 
Still,  it  is  not  to  be  acquired  by  any 
lessons  from  even  the  highest  masters  ; 
it  depends  much  more,  as  you  must 
feel,  on  your  own  constant  watchfulness 
of  Nature  and  love  of  her.  All  that  the 
master  does  in  general — whatever  his 
system  of  talking  may  be — is  to  awake 
your  attention  to  facts.  The  rest  is  all 
habit  and  mechanism,  and  it  is  always  in 
your  power  to  cultivate  your  powers 
of  attention  yourself  But  if  you  take 
lessons  at  all,  take  them  from  the  best. 
One  lesson  from  them,  which  will  cost 
you  a  guinea,  is  worth  three  from  others, 
which  will  cost  you  ten  shillings  each. 
The  choice  lies  between  three — Harding, 
De  Wint,  and  Cox, 


Harding's  Despisal  of  Colour        49 

I  will  tell  you  what  I  know  of  each, 
and  then  you  can  choose. 

Harding  is  indisputably  the  highest 
and  most  accomplished  landscape  artist 
who   o-ives   lessons    in    England   at   the 

o  o 

present  day,  but  he  will  not  teach  you 
coloiLriug ;  he  despises  it  himself,  and 
will  not  allow  it  in  you.  A  day  or  two 
before  I  started  I  was  with  him  about 
some  sketching  questions,  and  he  took 
out  a  portfolio  of  coloured  sketches 
he  had  just  made  in  Scotland,  for  me 
to  look  over.  I  was  much  delighted 
with  their  magnificent  precision  of  tone. 
*'  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Harding, 
"  for  they  are  the  first  sketches  in 
colotLV  I  ever  made  in  my  life." 

This  from  one  of  the  first  landscape 
masters  of  England  was  a  little  sur- 
prising. The  fact  is,  Harding  rests 
everything    upon    form    and    light    and 

D 


50     Methods  of  Harding  and  Turner 

shade ;  and  the  first  thing  he  will  do 
with  you,  and  does  with  everybody,  will 
be  to  take  the  brush  out  of  your  fingers 
and  put  a  piece  of  chalk  in,  and  say, 
"  Draw."  And  he  will  keep  you  draw- 
ing, if  you  obey  him,  till  you  can  draw 
as  well  as  he  can,  before  he  will  give 
you  a  brush.  In  the  main,  he  is  quite 
right  ;  form  is  almost  everything. 

Turner,  the  great  ruler,  studies  every 
one  of  his  pictures  in  light  and  shade 
before  he  thinks  of  colour  ;  and  if  you 
once  saw  such  a  chalk  sketch  as  I  did 
the  other  day  in  Florence,  hanging  up 
over  Michael  Angelo's  own  old  slippers, 
in  his  own  old  house, — finished  like  an 
engraving,  in  parts,  all  by  his  own 
hand, — I  don't  think  you  would  ever 
touch  colour  more. 

At  any  rate,  for  a  person  who  has 
much    time,    Harding's    system    is    the 


De  Wint  as  OpposeO  to  Harding     5I 

right  and  the  only  true  one.  But  as, 
unluckily,  all  the  time  which  probably 
you  will  have  to  spare  for  these  ten 
years  would  hardly  raise  you  up  to 
Harding's  mark  for  beginning  in  colour, 
and  as  it  is  very  agreeable  to  be  able 
to  put  down  a  striking  tint  or  two  from 
Nature,  even  if  it  be  not  forwarding 
you  by  the  straight  road  to  excellence, 
you  must  get  some  other  master. 

De  Wint  is  Harding's  direct  contrary, 
in  all  respects.  He  despises  form,  be- 
cause he  cannot  draw  a  straight  line,  and 
will  tell  you,  "  Never  mind  your  draw- 
ing, but  take  plenty  of  colour  on  your 
brush,  and  lay  it  on  very  thick."  He 
despises  all  rules  of  composition,  hates 
Old  Masters  and  humbug — synonymous 
terms  with  him — never  was  abroad  in  his 
life,  never  sketches  anything  but  pig- 
styes  and  haystacks,  and  is  a  thorough- 


52    De  Wint's  Special  Characteristics 

going-  John  Bull  of  an  artist  in  all 
respects.  But,  to  make  amends  for  all 
this,  he  is  a  most  ardent  lover  of  truth 
— hardly  ev^er  paints  except  from  nature, 
attends  constantly  and  effectually  to 
colour  and  tone,  and  produces  sketches 
of  such  miraculous  truth  of  atmosphere, 
colour  and  light,  that  half  an  hour's  work 
of  his,  from  nature,  has  fetched  its  fifty 
guineas,  and  a  parcel  of  his  sketches  has 
often  been  exchanged  for  a  Turner. 

I  think,  myself,  he  is  just  your  man, 
especially  as  he  will  allow  you  to  make  a 
mess  of  your  colour-box,  which  I  know 
you  like  ;  but  all  that  he  can  do  for  you 
will  be  to  teach  you  to  make  a  forcible 
sketch  of  an  atmospheric  effect  on  simple 
objects  ;  he  smothers  all  detail,  and  his 
trees  are  as  like  cabbages  as  anything 
else. 

Cox  is  a  much  more  agreeable  artist, 


Cox's   Place  among  Artists  53 

as  to  results,  than  De  Wiiit,  and  a  much 
•simpler  one  than  Harding.  De  Wint 
iis  always  true,  always  wonderful,  and 
always  ugly.  Cox  is  neither  so  true, 
nor  so  powerful,  but  his  sketch  is  twenty 
times  more  beautiful. 

He  is  a  man  of  dew :  his  sketches 
breathe  of  morning  air,  and  his  grass 
would  wet  your  feet  through,  if  you 
were  to  walk  on  it  in  Hoby's  best.  His 
mountains  are  melting  with  soft  shadows, 
and  his  clouds  at  once  so  clear  and  so 
vaporous,  so  craggy,  and  so  a;thereal, 
that  you  expect  to  see  them  dissolve 
before  you.  But  with  all  this  he  has 
neither  the  truth  of  De  Wint  nor  the 
science  of  Harding  :  he  is  a  man  of  less 
forcible  conception  than  the  one,  of  less 
cultivated  knowledge  than  the  other. 
He  is  a  mannerist,  and  all  his  pupils 
become    merely   inferior    Coxes.     What 


54  Effect  of  Cox's  Teaching 

his  mode  of  teaching  is  I  do  not  know 
from  experience  ;  but  I  believe,  from 
what  I  have  heard  and  seen  of  his  pupils, 
that  it  is  rather  instruction  in  mechanical 
laying  on  of  colour,  and  communication 
of  certain  tricks,  touches,  and  tints, — 
peculiarly  his  own, — than  any  general 
explanation  of  principles  of  art.  All  his 
pupils  become  clever,  but  never  original, 
and  always  smell  of  him  to  the  corners 
of  their  paper. 

I  think  myself  De  Wint  is  your  man  ; 
for  the  ardent  love  of  truth  which  is  his 
chief  characteristic  he  always  communi- 
cates, and  it  is  invaluable.  For  you 
may  get  Harding's  "Use  of  the  Lead- 
pencil,"  in  which  you  have  much  of  his 
knowledge  conveniently  arranged  ;  and, 
if  you  do  not  boggle  at  it  because  it 
professes  to  be  for  beginners,  which  all 
amateurs   almost    are,    you    will    find    it 


TURXER    FOR    A    SlF.EPING-Dr  AUGHT        55 

invaluable,    a    thing    to    be    learnt    by- 
heart. 

But,  above  all,  let  me  beseech  you, 
whenever  you  see  a  stained  engraving 
in  a  pawnbroker's  window  with  the  four 
letters  J.M.W.T.  at  the  left-hand  corner, 
buy  it ;  get  the  old  annuals,  which  are 
to  be  had  for  nothing  almost ;  Heath's 
"  Landscape  "  and  others,  where  you  are 
sure  of  three  or  four  delicate  plates  from 
him — Turner;  get  Rogers'  "Italy"  and 
"  Poems,"  they  are  getting  cheap  (I  think 
you  have  the  "  Italy  ") ;  and  the  "  Rivers 
of  France,"  in  which  you  get  sixty  en- 
gravings for  a  sovereign  ;  and  take  them 
to  bed  with  you,  and  look  at  them  before 
you  go  to  sleep,  till  you  dream  of  them  ; 
and  when  you  are  reading  and  come  to 
anything  that  you  want  to  refer  to  often, 
put  a  little  Turner  in  to  keep  the  place, 
that  your  eye  may  fall  on  it  whenever  you 


56  "The   Epitome  of  all  Ari  " 

open.  He  is  the  epitome  of  all  art,  the 
concentration  of  all  power  ;  there  is  no- 
thing that  ever  artist  was  celebrated  for, 
that  he  cannot  do  better  than  the  most 
celebrated.  He  seems  to  have  seen  every- 
thing, remembered  everything,  spiritual- 
ised everything  in  the  visible  world ; 
there  is  nothing  he  has  not  done,  nothing 
that  he  dares  not  do  ;  when  he  dies,  there 
will  be  more  of  nature  and  her  mysteries 
forgotten  in  one  sob,  than  will  be  learnt 
again  by  the  eyes  of  a  generation. 

However,  if  I  get  to  Turner  I  shall 
get  prosy,  and  I  suppose  you  have  had 
enough  of  the  brush  for  one  letter  ;  so 
I  shall  leave  the  discussion,  in  which 
you  beat  so  courteous  and  cowardly 
a  retreat,  unpursued  at  present, — only 
begging  you  not  to  suppose  that  any- 
thing I  have  just  said  about  truth 
militates    against    my   former    positions, 


Our  Lady  of  Chartres  57 

and  also  to  excuse  any  flippancy  or  too 
decisive  expression  I  may  fall  into  in 
talking  of  these  things,  partly  from 
hurry  and  partly  from  zeal ;  for  I  cannot 
say  "I  think"  and  "it  seems  to  me" 
perpetually  in  a  letter.  It  takes  both 
time  and  room  to  be  modest  on  paper, 
and  I  have  neither  to  spare. 

Now  for  a  bit  of  diary. 

First  I  went  to  Rouen — no,  before 
that,  to  Neuchatel,  and  had  some  cheese 
— beatific !  Then  to  Rouen,  and  caught 
a  cold.  Then  to  Chartres,  and  got  well 
again.  I  wish  you  had  seen  "  La  Vierge 
Noire,"  the  presiding  deity  of  Chartres 
Cathedral — a  little  black  lady  (with  a 
black  baby)  in  a  bright  white  muslin 
frock,  and  seven  or  eight  silk  petticoats, 
and  a  crown  of  little  spiky  stars,  and  a 
little  reticule  on  her  arm,  and  pink  satin 
beaux     on     her    wrists,     and    a    priest 


58  Orleans  Cathedral 

perpetually  sayini^  his  prayers  to  her,  and 
chang-ing  her  petticoats,  and  everybody 
in  the  town  bringing  her  votive  pin-cush- 
ions— "  On  a  beaucoup  de  devotion  pour 
elle,"  said  the  waiter.  Then  to  Orleans, 
racing  a  carter  all  the  way ; — thank 
heaven  !  till  some  patriotic  Frenchman 
burns  down  the  Cathedral  of  Orleans, 
our  National  Gallery  is  not  the  vilest 
piece  of  architecture  in  Europe.  Then 
to  Blois — such  a  barracks  of  buggy  bed- 
rooms, with  little  holes  and  passages 
and  panels  between,  where  people  used 
to  be  poisoned  and  stabbed— delicious  ! 
Then  to  Amboise, — the  scene  of  the 
"  Broken  Chain,"' — and  had  some  mut- 
ton chops.  Then  to  Tours,  and  saw  the 
house  of  Tristan  I'Hermite,  all  deco- 
rated with  effigies  of  different  sized 
ropes, — and  a  church ! !     I   should   like 

1  (Cf.  "  Poems  of  John  Ruskin." — 'Ed.) 


Tours  Cathedral  59 

excessively  to  see  your  High  Church 
principles  driven  in  a  diligence  into  St. 
Julien— ci  noble  cathedral  turned  into  a 
coachhouse  ;  horses  stabled  in  the  aisles  ; 
hay  and  straw  crammed  into  the  Gothic 
tracery,  which  makes  a  capital  rack ; 
diligences  standing  all  up  the  choir  and 
transepts,  and  the  columns  pasted  over 
with  "AVIS  DUDEPART,"&c.  Then 
to  Aubusson,  and  made  some  carpet. 
Then  to  Clermont,  and  bought  some 
petrified  thistledown.  Then  to  Le  Puy, 
and  lost  our  way.  Then  to  St.  Etienne, 
and  ran  against  a  diligence.  Then  to 
Vaucluse,  and  saw  the  legitimate  bona 
fide  portraits  of  Petrarch  and  Laura- 
Petrarch  like  a  butcher  playing  Julius 
Csesar  at  Astley's,  Laura  with  pink  eyes 
and  a  hatchet  nose.  It  is,  however, 
recorded  in  ^  that  the  inn  of 

'  (Two  words  undecipherable. — Ed.) 


6o  The  Carrara  Mouktaiks 

Petrarch  and  Laura  gives  some  of  the 
best  dinners  on  the  Continent,  which 
makes  it  worth  going.  Then  to  Aix, 
and  got  nearly  blown  away  by  the 
Bise.  Then  to  Nice,  where  there  is  a 
glorious  military  Mass  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  a  shady  English  service  where 
the  people  go  to  show  their  bonnets  on 
Sunday  forenoon,  and  a  splendid  mili- 
tary band  on  Sunday  evening — long 
live  the  King  of  Sardinia!  Then  to 
Genoa,  and  got  some  velvet.  Then  to 
Carrara,  and  bought  two  people  whom 
I  took  for  Adam  and  Eve,  but  every- 
body else  says  they  are  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne — taut  iiiieiix.  Carrara  is  a  nice 
place.  Imagine  a  range  of  noble  moun- 
tains from  5000  to  7000  feet  high,  termi- 
nating in  jagged  and  inaccessible  peaks, 
on  whose  bases,  fourteen  miles  off,  you 
can  just  discern   two  little  white  chips, 


The  Unchiselled  Life  in  Carrara    6i 

as  if  a  cannon  ball  had  cfrazed  the  hills. 
These,  as  you  get  nearer,  increase  in 
apparent  size  till,  after  a  walk  over  an 
old  Roman  road  paved  with  marble, 
you  arrive  at  the  lowest,  which  you  find 
to  be  a  group  of  seven  or  eight  quarries, 
each  the  size  of  the  great  one  on  Head- 
ingdon,  and  the  last  deep  and  large,  in 
rocks  of  lump-sugar — exquisite,  snow- 
white,  stainless  marble — out  of  whose 
dead  mass  life  is  leaping  day  by  day 
into  every  palace  of  Europe :  all  the 
roads  covered  with  snowy  debris,  and 
the  torrent  leaping  over  blocks  of  bright, 
neglected  alabaster — it  is  a  glorious 
place !  Then  to  Pisa,  and  got  giddy 
on  its  nasty  squinting  tower.  Then  to 
Florence,  which  was  the  most  awful 
thing  I  ever  encountered  in  the  way 
of  a  disappointment  ;  and,  at  last,  here  we 
are,   among    brick-dust    and    bad    Latin 


62  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 

ad  nauseam.  I  have  not  made  up  my 
mind  about  St.  Peter's  :  there  is  certainly 
a  great  deal  too  much  light  in  it,  which 
destroys  size  ;  it  is  kept  a  little  too 
clean,  and  the  bright  colours  of  its 
invaluable  marbles  tell  gaudily,  and  the 
roof  is  ugly,  merely  a  great  basket  of 
golden  wickerwork  ;  but  if  you  go  into 
its  details,  and  examine  its  colossal  pieces 
of  sculpture  which  gleam  through  every 
shadow,  the  thorough  get  up  of  the 
whole,  the  going  the  whole  hog,  the 
inimitable,  unimaginable  art  displayed 
into  every  corner  and  hole,  the  con- 
centration of  human  intellect  and  of  the 
rarest  and  most  beautiful  materials  that 
God  has  given  for  it  to  work  with, 
unite  to  raise  such  feelings  as  we  can 
have  only  once  or  twice  in  our  lives. 
The  value  of  intellect  and  material  con- 
centrated in  one  of  the  minor  chapels  of 


Sculpture   in  the  Vatican  63 

St.  Peter's  would  have  built  Canterbury 
or  York. 

I  have  been  much  pleased  with  the 
Vatican,  which  takes  about  an  hour's 
quick  walk  to  get  you  through  from 
one  end  to  the  other,  passing  a  statue 
for  every  second, — and  such  statues!  I 
never  knew  what  sculpture  meant  before. 
Above  all  I  was  surprised  at  the  extra- 
ordinary differences  between  the  usual 
casts  and  copies  of  the  Laocoon  and 
Apollo  (and  Venus  at  Florence)  and  the 
originals.  Of  course  the  copyers  cannot 
take  casts  off  the  actual  statuary,  and  are 
obliged  to  do  it  by  eye ;  or  they  try 
to  improve  them  or  something,  I  don't 
know  what — but,  instead  of  coming  to 
the  Belvidere,  as  to  a  known  hackneyed 
form,  I  started  at  it  as  if  I  had  never 
seen  it  in  my  life.  And  the  Venus, 
usually    in    her    casts    a    foolish     little 


64  Ancient  Rome 

schoolgirl,  is  one  of  the  purest  and 
most  elevated  incarnations  of  woman 
conceivable.  As  for  ancient  Rome,  it 
is  a  nasty,  rubbishy,  dirty  hole — I  hate 
it.  If  it  were  all  new,  and  set  up  again 
at  Birmingham,  not  a  soul  would  care 
twopence  for  it. 

As  for  myself,  I  am  better,  though 
my  eyes  are  still  weak  ;  nothing  but  a 
little  roughness  left  of  my  affection  of 
chest ;  and  my  eyes  are  better,  though, 
as  you  may  imagine,  they  have  had  a 
great  deal  to  try  them.  I  am  delighted 
by  Acland's  success  at  Oxford — many 
thanks  for  your  other  news.  My  father 
and  mother  send  their  best  thanks  for 
your  remembrances  and  kind  regards. 
I  hope  to  be  at  Naples  in  about  a 
month — after  Christmas,  that  is — and 
won't  forget  your  soap.  If  I  find  any- 
thing   particularly    well     formed     from 


The  Clergy  on  the  Continent      65 

Vesuvius,  I  will  bring  it  for  Mdlle. 
Emily,  of  whose  improved  health  I  was 
delighted  to  hear.  Pray  remember  me 
most  kindly  to  all  your  family.  I  have 
not  answered  your  conversation  about 
the  Church,  because  I  sympathise  com- 
pletely in  all  you  say,  and  I  don't  see 
the  use  of  answering  unless  you  have 
to  contradict  something  or  somebody. 
What  a  stupid  thing  conversation  would 
be  without  contradiction  !  I  wish  you 
would  come  and  preach  here  on  the 
Continent ;  there  are  more  clergymen  in 
England  than  people  will  listen  to. 
Here  they  are  more  wanted  than  among 
South  Sea  islands,  and  many  poor 
isolated  curates  keeping  up  a  heavy 
struggle,  with  no  money  and  few 
hearers,  and  a  stable  for  a  church. — 
Ever,  dear  C ,  most  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 

E 


VII. 

Naples,  February  12,  1841. 

Positively,  my  dear  C ,  you  are  a 

capital  correspondent.  It  is  a  hopeless 
thing  sending  off  a  letter  which  will 
take  twenty  days  to  go,  to  a  corre- 
spondent who  will  take  two  months  to 
answer.  I  don't  think  your  "B."  was 
necessary  this  time  :  you  could  not  have 
been  a  calendar  month  silent,  and  I  am 
excessively  obliged  to  you.  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  do  this  nasty 
wet  day,  if  I  had  not  your  epistle  to 
answer. 

I  do  wish  most  sincerely  that  we 
could  get  associated  in  our  duties 
in  some  way  or  other,  for  I  shall 
not    be    fit    for    much    myself,    except 


Health  versus  Work  67 

taking  the  tea-making  business  off  your 
liands. 

The  least  speaking  or  reading  makes 
me  hoarse,  and  if  I  go  on  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  my  throat  gets  irritated  and 
makes  me  cough ;  so  how  I  am  to 
preach  T  cannot  tell.  I  have  had  a 
slight  return  of  the  blood  from  my 
chest  here — less  than  ever,  but  still  it 
keeps  me  to  cautionary  measures, 
which  are  an  infernal  bore  when  you 
are  among  hills.  I  only  wish  I  co2ild 
smile  at  grief  on  the  top  of  a  rock ; 
but  I  am  obliged  to  stay  at  the  bottom, 
or  take  the  ladylike  expedient  of  a 
chaise  a  porteur ;  and  you  know,  if 
you  once  get  me  into  that,  with  the 
blinds  up,  you  may  send  me  where- 
ever  you  like, — and  a  fig  for  the  vicar, 
as  somebody  remarks  to  the  Lady  of 
the  Lake. 


68  "Modern  Painters"  Begun 

The  worst  of  it  is,  it  checks  one 
In  talking  up  any  design  that  requires 
time.  I  have  begun  a  work  of  some 
labour'  which  would  take  me  several 
years  to  complete ;  but  I  cannot  read 
for  it,  and  do  not  know  how  many  years 
I  may  have  for  it.  I  don't  know  if  I 
shall  even  be  able  to  get  my  degree  ;  and 
so  I  remain  in  a  jog-trot,  sufficient-for- 
the-day  style  of  occupation — lounging, 
planless,  undecided,  and  uncomfortable, 
except  when  I  can  get  out  to  sketch — 
my  chief  enjoyment.  I  am  beginning 
to  consider  the  present  as  the  only 
available  time,  and  in  that  humour  it  is 
impossible  to  work  at  anything  dry  or 
laborious  or  useful.  I  spend  my  days 
in  a  search  after  present  amusement, 
because  I  have  not  spirit  enough  to 
labour    in    the    attainment   of    what    I 

>  ("  Modern  Painters." — Ed.) 


Religious  Matters  69 

may  not  have  future  strength  to 
attain  ;  and  yet  am  restless  under  the 
sensation  of  days  perpetually  lost  and 
employment  perpetually  vain. 

If  I  could  even  avail  myself  of  the 
opportunities  of  amusement  about  me 
I  should  not  care,  for  they  are  all 
instructive  in  their  way  ;  but  I  cannot 
draw  more  than  an  hour  or  two  in  the 
day,  for  my  eyes,  nor — but  I  suppose  I 
have  told  you  all  my  cannots  before — 
niniporte. 

I  have  been  thinking  a  little  more  of 
your  "perfect  additions"  lately;  and  I 
dare  say  there  is  a  great  deal  of  comfort 
in  religious  matters,  for  people  like  an 
old  gentleman  who  was  giving  me  a 
sketch  of  his  life,  as  we  came  out  of 
church  yesterday,  concluding  with  :  "  I'm 
greatly  blessed !  highly  favoured !  hale 
and  hearty  of  my  age  ! — and  such  peace  ! 


70  Religious  Matters 

such  views  of  divine  things !  amazin' ! " 
But,  do  you  know,  I  think  a  fiat  of 
general  annihilation  would  be  a  far  more 
comfortable  thing  for  mankind  in  gene- 
ral than  the  contest  between  Satan  and 
St.  Michael,  with  lo  to  i  on  the  devil. 
I  had  rather,  myself,  be  sure  of  rest 
than  know  I  was  to  sing  for  ever — with 
great  odds  it  was  to  be  on  the  wrong 
side  of  my  mouth. 

I  don't  mean  to  jest  upon  the  matter, 
nor  to  shock  you  ;  but  those  texts  about 
the  straight  (sic)  gate  are  awkward 
things  for  the  public. 

Many — infinite,  as  you  say — thanks 
for  your  notice  of  my  poems  ;  only  that 
was  a  neat  way  of  beginning  a  letter, 
which  was  to  explode  my  infinities 
altogether.  I  am  the  more  obliged 
because  it  is  nearly  impossible  to  get 
any     quiet     or     candid     criticism     from 


Verse-Writers  and  their  Excuses     71 

anyone.  I  have  a  great  deal  said  about 
the  "brilliant  effusions  of  my  pen" 
by  ladies — who  never  read,  and  couldn't 
have  understood,  a  word  of  them — 
and  I  have  received  occasional  flaofella- 
tions  from  an  offended  gazette ;  but, 
happening  to  know  some  matters  behind 
the  scenes,  I  have  long  ceased  even  to 
read  public  criticisms  ;  and  few  friends 
venture  ;  so  I  thank  you  again  for  really 
reading  them,  and  still  more  for  telling 
me  your  opinion  ;  and  I  will  thank  you 
still  more  if  you  will  hear  what  I  can 
say  in  my  justification  with  respect  to 
the  particular  faults  you  mention  ;  for, 
depend  on  it,  people  who  write  verses 
are  like  mankind  in  their  morality  :  they 
will  allow  themselves  at  once  to  be 
sinners  in  the  general  way,  but  are 
always  prepared  with  excuses  when  you 
name  a  particular  sin. 


72     The  Mental  Effects  of  Sorrow 

I  think  you  have  not  sufficiently 
considered  that  "  Psammy  "  ^  is  through- 
out a  speech,  a  dramatic  piece — not  a 
poem  in  which  the  author  professes  to 
be  speaking.  If  you  have  ever  felt  the 
dreamy  confusion,  the  delirious  weight 
of  intellectual ^^\n  consequent  on  sudden 
and  violent  sorrow,  you  would  not 
expect  a  man  in  Psammenitus's  situa- 
tion to  be  distinct  in  a  single  idea  or 
expression.  In  such  circumstances  all 
thought  becomes  a  sensation,  and  all 
sensation  becomes  sight ;  and  the  king- 
doms of  the  several  senses  are  dashed 
into  such  anarchy  in  a  moment  that 
they  invade  and  dethrone  each  other  ; 
the  thoughts  become  rapid  and  in- 
voluntary, taking  almost  a  visible  form  ; 
and  every    sensation    takes    a    delirious 

1  ("  The  Tears  of  Psammenitus."     Cf.  "Poems  of 
John  Raskin." — Ed.) 


"  PSAMMENITUS"    ANALYSED  73 

hold  of  the  brain,  rushuig  there  from 
every  part  of  the  body,  and  confusing 
and  exciting  its  powers  at  the  same 
time  ;  all  the  faculties  are  in  an  ener- 
getic, but  a  diseased  and  involuntary, 
state  of  action — the  memory,  for  instance 
becomes  capable  of  grasping  years  of 
events  in  a  moment,  but  has  no  power 
over  itself,  could  not  seize  at  its  own 
wish  the  circumstances  of  an  instant 
ago — all  is  forced  upon  it. 

It  is  this  state  of  mind  which  I  particu- 
larly aimed  at  depicting  in  the  "Psamme- 
nitus,"  and  I  ought  to  have  succeeded,  for 
the  thing  was  written  in  two  hours  as 
a  relief  from  strong  and  painful  excite- 
ment. The  choice  of  subject,  I  agree 
with  you,  is  wrong ;  but  I  wrote  this, 
and  five  or  six  other  pieces,  as  illustra- 
tions of  Herodotus,  partly  because  I 
thought  there  was  a  great  deal  of  the 


74  Dodges  in  Criticism 

picturesque  lying  neglected  in  this 
historian,  and  partly  to  fix  the  history  in 
my  mind  while  I  read  it.  "  The  Scythian 
Grave,"  "The  Scythian  Banquet-song," 
"  The  Scythian  Guest,"  "  Aristodemus 
at  Platea,"  "The  Last  Song  of  Arion,"' 
&c.,  were  all  written  with  this  intention. 
Now,  as  you  say,  to  come  to  par- 
ticulars :  ent7''e  nous,  you  are  not  quite 
up  to  our  dodge  of  great  value  in 
matters  of  criticism.  You  should  never 
actually  come  to  particulars,  for  authors 
are  very  apt  to  come  down  upon  you 
with  "  authorities  " — there  being  an 
authority  for  almost  every  absurdity 
that  can  be  committed  either  in  literary 
or  practical  matters.  You  should  only 
say  you  are  going  to  particularise  ;  then 
extract  a  portion  of  some  twenty  lines 
which  you  conceive  the  writer  supposes 

'  (Cf.  "The  Poems  of  John  Ruskin." — Ed.) 


The  Choice  of  Metaphor  75 

"fine" — put  twenty  notes  of  interroga- 
tion and  admiration  alternately  all  down 
at  the  end  of  the  lines — and  then  ask  the 
author  point  blank  "what  he  means  by 
the  whole  passage."  If  that  doesn't  non- 
plus him  I  don't  know  what  will.  But 
whereas  you  condescend  to  particularise 
bona  fide,  I  cannot  help  endeavouring  to 
get  myself  out  of  the  scrape. 

You  quarrel  first  with  the  "bars"  of 
darkness.  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  I  said 
bars,  I  didn't  say  crowhdirs  ;  and  if,  when 
I  intend  you  to  lie  like  a  good  tractable 
wild  beast,  with  the  shadow  of  your  bars 
between  you  and  the  light,  you  are  to 
pitch  them  at  my  head  like  a  Cornish 
miner — it  is  /who  ought  to  cry  "Hold!" 

I  do  seriously  maintain  that,  mono- 
syllable, dissyllable,  or  polysyllable, 
there  is  not  another  word  in  the  Eng- 
lish language    so    effectively  expressive 


76  The  Choice  of  Metaphor 

of  partial,   prolonged,  parallel   shade  as 
"  bars." 

What  would  you  say  ?  "  Streaks  "  ? 
A  streak  is  properly  applied  only  to  a 
line  which  is  thin  and  drawn  out — like 
the  delineations  in  beer  on  a  public- 
house  table,  par  exeniple.  "Stripes"? 
That  smells  of  wild  cat  and  improper 
servants.  "Lines"?  A  line  is  length 
without  breadth.  "Parallelograms"? 
Slightly  unpoetical,  I  think — but  if  you 
can  bring  it  into  the  verse,  do,  by  all 
means.  So  that  actually,  "bar"  is  the 
only  word  I  could  have  used  with  any 
propriety.  But  if  you  particularly  de- 
sire to  suppose  farther  that  Psammenitus 
had  a  very  unpleasant  headache,  and 
that  every  shadow  that  past  left  a  sensa- 
tion of  his  brains  being  made  into  York- 
shire pudding  by  self-acting  rolling-pins, 
I    have    not   the   slightest   objection    to 


The  Choice  of  Metaphor  77 

such  an  interpretation — nay,  I  think  the 
beauty  of  the  expression  must  be  en- 
hanced by  its  comprehensiveness. 

Next  you  proceed,  or  go  back  rather, 
to  the  "  keen  pain  "  of  the  Hne  before,  and 
you  ask  me  "Who  ever  heard  of  cold 
pain  ? " — may  I  ask  you  in  return  who 
ever  heard  of  hot  shadows  ?  A  shadow 
is  a  very  common  metaphor  for  sorrow. 
If  a  shadow  is  cool — if  you  don't  put 
very  much  more  cobalt  than  Indian-red 
into  them — you  will  find  your  drawing 
look  very  unpleasant.  And,  moreover, 
as  shadow  is  a  keen  thing,  it  has  a  cut- 
ting edge,  which  you  can  only  get  with 
a  very  full  brush,  as  you  must  very  well 
know.  And,  letting  the  shadows  alone, 
I  think  I  may  prove  that  all  sorrow,  if  un- 
mixed with  feelings  of  anger  or  revenge, 
is  cold.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any- 
body who   was    burying   their   relations 


78  The  Choice  of  Metaphor 

one  after  another,  remarking  that  it  was 
"  warm  work  "  ?  Did  you  ever  yourself 
when  you  had  k)st  a  friend — if  it  were 
but  a  dog — feel  the  warmer  for  it  ?  On 
the  contrary,  the  cry  of  the  bereaved 
is  always  "  Poor  Tom's  a- cold."  ' 

The  feeling  in  its  first  acuteness 
might  perhaps  be  metaphorically  styled 
"  burning  " — just  as  the  existence  of  cold 
has  the  same  effect  and  sensation  as  the 
extreme  of  heat ;  but  it  is  always  a 
chill,  an  icy  feeling  about  the  heart, 
which  cloak  nor  fire  will  never  banish 
more.  What  is  the  common  metaphor 
for  the  desolation  of  a  bereaved  age  ? 
Winter.  Even  you,  in  your  "All  hot — 
sugar  and  brandy "  style,  would  not 
talk  of  a  man's  being  in  the  dog-days 
of  his  life  when  he  had  lost  everyone 
who  cared  for  him.  And  although  some 
1  (Cf.  "  King  Lear."— Ed.) 


The  Choice  of  Metaphor  79 

mental  pain — rage,  jealousy,  envy,  re- 
venge, &c. — may  be  burning,  I  do  not 
intend  the  mind  of  Psammenitus  to  be 
touched  by  any  of  these  at  this  instant. 
The  vision  of  his  sons,  led  to  death,  is 
passing  before  his  eyes.  He  has  but 
one  feeling — that  the  forms  are  vanishing 
for  ever ;  he  remembers  not  the  cause, 
he  only  knows  that  each  walks  hand  in 
hand  with  death ;  and  their  shadows 
as  they  pass  fall,  each  with  the  bitter, 
irrevocable  chill  that  all  the  suns  of 
heaven  can  never  break.  I  have  tried, 
in  this  line,  to  express  the  confusion  of 
the  senses  by  which  they  are  felt  at 
once  cold  to  the  heart,  quivering  to  the 
eye,  and  keen  to  the  brain. 

Verily,  I  think  it  is  a  little  too  bad  to 
begin  a  second  sheet  of  egotism  on  you. 
But,  after  all,  I  think  it  is  pleasanter 
to  be  discussing   some    real    subject   of 


8o  Vesuvius 

interest,  like  that  suggested  by  the 
remarks  of  yours — which  I  have  yet  to 
answer — than  to  tell  you  where  I  was 
when  you  were  writing  to  me — that  when 
it  was  a  soft  rain  with  you  it  was  a  soft 
sun  with  me.  And  I  was  sitting  above 
the  grotto  of  Posilipo,  sketching  a  ruined 
palace  by  a  rocky  shore,  as  foreground 
to  the  sweeping  line  of  the  blue  bay 
and  bright  city  of  Naples,  and  doing 
all  I  could — with  Chinese  white — to 
come  up  to  the  dazzling  brightness  of 
the  drift  of  vapour — call  it  not  smoke — 
floating  from  the  lips  of  Vesuvius.' 

I  am  getting  as  fond  of  Vesuvius  as 
of  a  human  creature;  and  have  been 
very  happy  to-day  sauntering  through 
the  frescoed  chambers  of  Pompeii,  with  a 
sun  as  bright  upon  their  azures  as  ever 

'  (See  the  illustration,  "  Bay  of  Naples,  1841,"  facing 
p.  142  of  "The  Poetry  of  Architecture." — Ed.) 


"  PSAMMENITUS"    FURTHER    ANALYSED       8l 

rejoiced  with  the  rejoichig  of  those 
whom  they  have  lost. 

But — to  go  back  to  Psammy — I  think 
I  have  only  one  more  particular  objec- 
tion to  answer.  You  say,  do  not  I 
mean  "forgive,"  instead  of  "forget,  the 
thoughts  of  him,"  &c.  ?  Now,  the  third 
line  after  this  passage  is  :  "  No  tear — • 
Hath  quenched  the  curse  within  mine 
eyes."  Is  this  very  like  forgiveness? 
I  merely  mean  the  expression  to  stand 
for  a  gentlemanlike  apology  on  the  part 
of  Psammy,  for  keeping  King  C.'s  mes- 
senger waiting  while  he  was  rigmaroling 
about  red  air,  and  white  hair.  Sud- 
denly he  recollects  himself:  "  Dear  me, 
I  quite  forgot !  I  beg  pardon !  What 
was  it  Cambyses  was  thinking  about 
me?" 

Now,  I  think,  as  far  as  Psammenitus 
goes,  I  have  got  pretty  well  out  of  the 


82    Infinity  and  Mystery  Everywhere 

scrape,  if  you  will  accept  the  above 
apology  for  its  obscurity.  But  as  I 
suppose  you  intend  to  refer  in  some 
degree  to  the  other  poems,  I  must  come 
to  generals. 

You  say  that  infinity  of  conception 
ought  to  belong  only  to  religion. 
Granted.  But  what  object  or  sensation 
in  earth  or  heaven  has  not  religion  in 
it — that  is,  has  not  something  to  do  with 
God,  and  therefore  with  both  infinity 
and  mystery  ?  You  cannot  banish  infinity 
from  space  or  time,  nor  mystery  from 
every  motion  of  your  body,  every  pulse 
of  your  heart,  every  exertion  of  mental 
energy  ?  How  can  you  speak,  when  you 
have  no  knowledge,  and  keep  clear  of 
mystery  ?  and  how  far  in  any  subject 
does  the  highest  human  knowledge 
extend  ?  Will  you  undertake  to  convey 
to    another   person    a    perfectly  distinct 


The  Mystery  of   Human  Emotions     83 

idea  of  any  single  simple  emotion  passing 
in  your  own  heart  ? 

You  cannot — you  cannot  fathom  it 
yourself — you  have  no  actual  expression 
for  the  simple  idea,  and  are  compelled 
to  have  instant  recourse  to  meta- 
phor. 

You  can  say,  for  instance,  you  feel 
cold,  or  warm,  at  the  heart ;  you  feel 
depressed,  delighted,  dark,  bright :  are 
any  of  these  expressions  competent  to 
illustrate  the  whole  feeling?  If  you  try 
to  reach  it  you  must  heap  on  metaphor 
after  metaphor,  and  image  after  image, 
and  you  will  feel  that  the  most  myste- 
rious touch  nearest  and  reach  highest, 
but  none  will  come  up  to  the  truth. 
In  short,  if  you  banish  obscurity  from 
your  language  you  banish  all  descrip- 
tion of  human  emotion,  beyond  such 
simple  notions  as  that  your  hero  is  in  a 


84   The   Kindling  of  the  Imagination 

fury  or  a  fright.  For  all  human  emotions 
are  obscure,  mysterious  in  their  source, 
their  operation,  their  nature  ;  and  how 
possibly  can  \\\q.  picture  of  a  mystery  be 
less  than  a  mystery  ? 

But,  farther — were  it  possible,  it  is 
not  desirable  to  banish  all  obscurity  from 
poetry.  If  the  mind  is  delighted  in  the 
attainment  of  a  new  idea,  its  delight  is 
increased  tenfold  if  it  be  obtained  by 
its  own  exertion — if  it  has  arisen  appar- 
ently from  its  own  depths. 

The  object  in  all  art  is  not  to  infoi'm 
but  to  suggest,  not  to  add  to  the  know- 
ledge but  to  kindle  the  imagination. 
He  is  the  best  poet  who  can  by  the 
fewest  words  touch  the  greatest  number 
of  secret  chords  of  thought  in  his 
reader's  own  mind,  and  set  them  to 
work  in  their  own  way.  I  will  take  a 
simple  instance  in  epithet.     Byron  begins 


The  Essence  of  Poetry  85 

something  or  other' — "  Tis  midnight: 
on  the  mountains  brown — The  pale 
round  moon  shines  deeply  down." 
Now  the  first  eleven  words  are  not 
poetry,  except  by  their  measure  and 
preparation  for  rhyme  ;  they  are  simple 
information,  which  might  just  as  well 
have  been  given  in  prose — it  7S  prose,  in 
fact :  It  is  twelve  o'clock — the  moon  is 
pale — it  is  round — it  is  shining  on 
brown  mountains. 

Any  fool,  who  had  seen  it,  could  tell 
us  all  that.  At  last  comes  the  poetry, 
in  the  single  epithet,  "deeply."  Had 
he  said  "  softly  "  or  "brightly  "  it  would 
still  have  been  simple  information. 

But  of  all  the  readers  of  that  couplet, 
probably  not  two  received  exactly  the 
same  impression  from  the  "deeply," 
and    yet    received  more  from  that  than 

*  ("The  Siege  of  Corinth." — Ed.) 


86  The   Power  of  an  Epithet 

from  all  the  rest  together.  Some  will 
refer  the  expression  to  the  fall  of  the 
steep  beams,  and  plunge  down  with 
them  from  rock  to  rock  into  the  woody 
darkness  of  the  cloven  ravines,  down 
to  the  undermost  pool  of  eddying  black 
water,  whose  echo  is  lost  among  their 
leafage  ;  others  will  think  of  the  deep 
heaven,  the  silent  sea,  that  is  drinking 
the  light  into  its  infinity ;  others  of  the 
deep  feeling  of  the  pure  light,  of  the 
thousand  memories  and  emotions  that 
rise  out  of  their  rest,  and  are  seen  white 
and  cold  in  its  rays.  This  is  the  reason 
of  the  power  of  the  single  epithet,  and 
this  is  its  mystery. 

Where  it  is  thus  desired,  as  in  almost 
all  good  poetry  it  is,  that  the  reader 
should  work  out  much  for  himself,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  keep  his  mind  in  a 
peculiar  temper,  adapted  for  the  exercise 


Scott's   Poetry  87 

of  the  imagination  :  to  do  this,  rhyme 
and  rhythm  are  introduced,  as  melody, 
to  assist  the  fancy,  and  bring  the  whole 
mind  into  an  elevated  and  yet  soothed 
spirituality.  Where  nothing  is  to  be 
left  to  the  imagination,  where  all  is  to 
be  told  downright,  this  is  totally  un- 
necessary :  we  can  receive  plain  facts  in 
any  temper. 

Now,  in  all  art,  whatever  is  not  useful 
is  detrimental.  Rhyme  and  rhythm  are, 
therefore,  thoroughly  injurious  where 
there  is  no  mystery,  when  there  is  not 
some  undermeaning,  some  repressed 
feeling  ;  and  thus,  in  five-sixths  of  Scott's 
poetry,  as  it  is  called,  the  metre  is  an 
absolute  excrescence,  the  rhythm  de- 
generates into  childish  jingle,  and  the 
rhyme  into  unseemly  fetters  to  yoke  the 
convicted  verses  together. 

"  Rokeby,"  had  it  been  written  in  his 


88    Great  Poets  and  Their  Meanings 

own  noble  prose  style,  would  have  been 
one  of  his  very  first-raters  ;  at  present,  it 
is  neglected  even  by  his  most  ardent  ad- 
mirers. And  thus,  not  only  is  obscurity 
necessary  to  poetry,  it  is  the  only 
apology  for  writing  it. 

My  space  is  diminishing  so  fast  that 
I  cannot  say  what  I  would  of  particular 
men,  or  I  think  I  could  show  you  in 
any  real  poet,  Shakspeare,  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  Shelley,  Byron,  Spenser,  G. 
Herbert,  Elizabeth  Barrett — whom  you 
choose — that  their  finest  passages  never 
can  be  fathomed  in  a  minute,  or  in  ten 
minutes,  or  exhausted  in  as  many  years. 
But  this  I  can  say,  that  if  you  sit  down 
to  read  poetry  with  merely  the  wish  to 
be  amused,  without  a  willingness  to 
take  some  pains  to  work  out  the  secret 
meanings,  without  a  desire  to  sympathise 
with,  and  yield  to,  the  prevailing  spirit 


The  Function  of  Poetry  89 

of  the  writer,  you  had  better  keep  to 
prose  :  for  no  poetry  is  worth  reading 
which  is  not  worth  learning  by  heart. 
To  put  plain  text  into  rhyme  and  metre 
is  easy  ;  not  so  to  write  a  passage 
which  every  time  It  is  remembered  shall 
suggest  a  new  train  of  thought,  a  new 
subject  of  delighted  dream.  It  is  this 
mystic  secrecy  of  beauty  which  is  the 
seal  of  the  highest  art,  which  only  opens 
itself  to  close  observation  and  long 
study. 

I  have  been  ten  years  learning  to 
understand  Turner — I  shall  be  as  many 
more  before  I  can  understand  Raphael ; 
but  I  can  feel  it  a  little  in  all  first-rate 
works.  The  Apollo  never  strikes  at 
first,  nor  the  Venus  ;  but  hour  by  hour, 
and  day  by  day,  the  mystery  of  its 
beauty  flushes  like  life  into  the  limbs 
as  you  gaze  ;   and  you  are  drawn  back 


go  Obscurity  in  Poetry 

and  back  for  ever — to  see  more— to  feel 
that  you  know  less. 

Now,  all  this,  remember,  is  general. 
As  regards  my  own  poems,  believe  me, 
I  do  not  think  that  they  must  be  fine, 
if  they  are  incomprehensible.  I  only 
say  that  their  obscurity  is  not  to  be 
urged  as  at  once  damnatory,  not  until 
it  can  be  shown  to  be  an  affected  mask 
of  commonplaces.  And  pray  do  not, 
because  I  have  sent  you  two  sheets  of 
self-defence,  give  me  up  as  a  hopeless 
offender.  I  am  rather  fond  of  quarrel- 
ing—  arguing,  that  is  —  and  perhaps, 
sometimes  persist  in  it  when  I  am 
undecided  in  my  own  opinion,  for  the 
sake  of  an  argument  ;  but  you  will 
find  that  it  is  possible  to  convince  me, 
and  when  I  am  once  thoroughly  con- 
vinced I  shall  confess  it.  You  have 
only    found    three    faults,    and    two    of 


The  Work  of  Fatigued  Moments     91 

those  in  one  couplet.  I  know  that 
there  are  hundreds  you  might  fix  upon  ; 
and  if  you  ever  look  at  the  things 
again,  and  will  tell  me  what  you  notice, 
believe  me,  I  shall  be  obliged :  for, 
though  I  shall  never  touch  these  things 
again,  having  written  them  all  in  fatigued 
moments  and  without  thought,  I  shall 
know  what  to  guard  ao-ainst  in  future. 

Once  more,  forgive  me  for  this  in- 
fliction ;  you  see  what  an  unlucky  thing 
it  is  to  set  people  off  on  their  hobby — 
and  don't  talk  any  more  about  imper- 
tinences. Remember  me  most  kindly 
to  all  your  family.  My  father  and 
mother  join  in  kindest  regards  to  your- 
self: my  mother  reads  all  your  letters 
and  says  she  hopes  they  may  do  me 
good,  she  is  sure  they  ought ;  so  am  I. 
— Ever  most  truly  yours, 

J.   RUSKIN. 


VIII. 

Venice,  May  i6. 

[Postmark,  1841]. 

My  dear  C 

"  B.,"  but  my  last  letter  was  two- 
sheeted  ;  and,  candidly,  I  was  a  little 
afraid  of  boring  you  by  another  too 
soon ;  besides,  I  have  not  been  par- 
ticularly well.  Things  went  wrong  with 
me  at  Albano,  two  months  ago,  and 
I  have  been  very  lazy  since  —  blood 
coming  three  days  running,  and  once 
afterwards  ;  better  now,  however,  and 
delicious  weather  here,  so  that  I  can  do 
anything  and  go  anywhere,  at  any  time, 
in  any  dress,  and  in  the  fresh  air  all 
day.  After  a  thorough  spell  of  draw- 
ing, I  have  put  up  my  pencils — rather 
sulkily,  by-the-bye  :  for  this  place  is  quite 


Peterborough  Cathedral  93 

beyond  everybody  but  Turner — and  sit 
down  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  answer 
your  enquiry,  "Can  you  tell  me  any- 
thing of  Peterborough?"  In  the  hope 
of  your  requiring  no  information  on  the 
subject,  under  the  probability  of  your 
having  already  got  more  than  I  can 
give,  I  need  not  reply  at  much  length. 
Of  the  town,  whether  lively  or  dull, 
pleasant  or  pestiferous,  I  know  abso- 
lutely nothing.  The  Cathedral  is  the 
most  original  and  bold  in  conception  of 
exterior  (or  rather  of  west  front)  of  all 
our  English  basilicas ;  it  is  very  cor- 
rupt —  and  very  impressive  —  through- 
out. I  think,  from  what  I  remember, 
the  services  are  well  performed  ;  the 
cloisters  are  beautiful,  though  ruined ; 
the  churchyard  the  most  beautiful  in 
England.  Altogether,  I  think  I  would 
rather    have    it    for    a   study    than    any 


94  The  Scenery  of  Clifton 

other  I  remember  ;  the  town  looks 
cheerful,  but  the  country  round  is  dead 
Hat.  I  should  think  there  were  no  walks, 
and  a  good  deal  of  marsh  hydrogen. 

I  have  just  read  your  letter  over, 
which  leaves  me  in  a  very  uncom- 
fortable doubt  of  your  being  in  any 
particular  point  of  space,  and  possessed 
of  an  exceedingly  indistinct  notion  of 
your  state  of  existence,  as  you  date 
from  three  places  and  profess  an  inten- 
tion of  going  to  two  more.  I  shall 
take  you  up  at  Clifton,  and  toil  after 
you  in  vain.  I  don't  wonder  at  your 
admiring  Clifton,  it  is  certainly  the 
finest  piece  of  limestone  scenery  in  the 
kingdom,  except  Cheddar,  and  Cheddar 
has  no  wood.  Did  you  find  out  the 
dingle  running  up  through  the  cliffs 
on  the  south  side  of  the  river,  opposite 
St.   Vincent's  ?     When    the   leaves   are 


Friends  and  Relations  95 

on,  there  are  pieces  of  Ruysdael  study 
of  near  rock  there,  with  the  noble  cliff 
through  the  breaks  of  the  foliage,  quite 
intoxicating ;  but  I  cannot  endure  the 
Avon — [Mantua,  May  20th.) — nor  the 
wells,  nor  the  fashionabilities,  nor  the 
smoke,  nor  the  boarding-schools  on  the 
downs,  nor  the  steamers  on  the  river, 
nor  any  other  of  the  accompaniments. 
I  had  much  rather  be  with  you — where 
you  go  next — at  your  uncle's  house  in 
Yorkshire  (Is  this  synonymous  with 
"  Copgrove"? ) 

There  you  get  metaphysical,  and  on 
a  stiff  subject,  too — natural  affections  ; 
you  ask  if  this  coldness  (towards 
unseen  relations)  be  peculiar  to  you. 
Certainly  not  ;  nor  do  I  think  it 
can  possibly  be  peculiar  even  to  you 
and  me.  I  think  the  instinct  of  the 
human    race    is    as    much    below    that 


96  Distinctions  in  Affection 

of  lower  animals  here  as  In  other  cases. 
We  cannot  fish  out  our  relations  by  the 
smell,  as  sheep  or  cows  could  ;  nor 
should  I  be  much  disposed  to  believe 
in  any  stories  of  instinctive  clinging 
towards  an  unknown  relative.  But  why 
should  you  think  this  "selfish".^  It 
would  be  much  more  selfish  if  we  loved 
a  certain  number  of  human  beings 
merely  because  they  have  so  much  of 
our  own  flesh  and  blood  in  them,  than 
if,  as  seems  generally  the  case,  we  gave 
our  affection  under  the  gradual  influence 
of  mutual  kind  offices.  In  the  one  case, 
the  relation  is  loved  with  a  selfish  love, 
as  part  of  ourselves:  "This  is  luy  ^o\\, 
sir."  In  the  other  he  is  but  treated 
with  pure  justice  and  gratitude  as  our 
benefactor,  or  with  that  strange  but 
beautiful  affection  given  to  those  whom 
we  have  benefited. 


The  Domestic  Affections  97 

It  seems  to  me  that,  as  far  as  mere 
theory  goes,  the  claims  of  relations  as 
such  upon  our  good  offices  are  totally 
untenable  and  unjust  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind. But  such  a  principle  never  can 
be  carried  into  practice,  because,  though 
people  would  be  glad  enough  to  cast  off 
their  relations  if  public  opinion  permitted 
it,  it  would  be  odds  if  anybody  else 
were  a  bit  the  better  for  it.  Still,  it  is 
odd  that  the  domestic  affections,  founded 
as  they  are  in  our  most  trivial  habits, 
unjustified  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  by 
any  worthiness  of  object,  and  bestowed 
with  as  little  concurrence  of  our  reason- 
able nature  as  a  cat's  love  of  its  native 
hearth,  should  be  such  ennobling,  dig- 
nified, beautiful  parts  of  our  moral 
system. 

Who  would  not  scorn — and  that  justly 
— a  man  who  had  no  patriotism }     Yet 


98  Universal  Brotherhood 

what  is  patriotism  but  an  absurd  preju- 
dice, founded  on  an  extended  selfish- 
ness ?  Who  would  not  detest  a  man 
who  should  weigh  his  brother's  request 
as  if  it  came  from  an  utter  stranger? 
Yet  how  is  it  just  that  a  worthier  claim 
should  be  rejected,  because  habits  of 
sitting  in  opposite  chairs  have  brought 
the  affections  together  ? 

It  is  not  a  subject  to  be  pressed  how- 
ever; for  an  affection,  however  unreason- 
ably placed,  is  always  a  good  thing,  and 
our  fault  is  not  that  we  love  our  relatives 
too  much,  but  that  we  do  not  include  all 
who  live  in  the  number. 

That  theory  of  Lord  Dudley's  about 
association  has  been  held  by  quantities 
of  people,  I  believe,  but  in  its  extreme 
it  is  of  course  mere  nonsense.  It  has 
arisen,  I  suppose,  from  people  finding  it 
difficult   to   give  just   reasons   for  their 


The  Divine  Laws  of  Taste  99 

deriving  more  pleasure  from  one  object 
than  from  another,  the  attempt  to  do  so 
being  primarily  as  reasonable  as  an 
attempt  to  assert  logical  causes  for  our 
preferring  otto  of  roses  to  asafoetida. 
Numbers  of  pretty  fancies  may  be 
formed  about  the  thing ;  numbers  of 
them  may  be  secondarily  and  locally 
true  ;  but  you  must  have  a  good,  down- 
right brutal  instinct  to  begin  with,  or 
you  never  know  where  you  are.  God 
has  said,  "You  shall  like  this,  and  you 
shall  dislike  that,"  and  there  is  an  end  of 
the  matter  ;  it  will  be  liked  and  disliked 
to  all  time,  though  all  the  associations  in 
the  world  stood  in  array  against  the 
impulses.  On  these  natural  feelings  one 
may  set  to  work;  one  may  teach,  accus- 
tom, associate,  and  do  a  great  deal  to 
increase,  diminish,  or  change,  but  the 
natural  instinct  is  still  the  source  of  all. 


100    Association  an  Ambiguous  Word 

You  may  well  ask,  what  does  Lord 
Dudley  mean  by  association  ?  it  is  a 
very  ambiguous  word.  I  should  not 
allow  your  pleasure  in  looking  at  a  path 
which  Rob  Roy  had  trodden  to  be  the 
result  of  association  :  it  is  a  legitimate 
historical  interest.  You  do  not  think  the 
stones,  or  the  grass,  one  bit  the  prettier 
for  it ;  and  therefore,  as  far  as  it  affects 
your  notions  of  beauty,  the  association  is 
void.  Still  less  should  I  allow  seeing 
God's  power  in  the  great  deep  to  be 
association :  it  is  actual  observation  of 
interesting  fact.  But  suppose  that  during 
some  particularly  pleasurable  passage  or 
moment  of  your  life  your  eye  falls  un- 
consciously on  some  stick  or  stone  of 
particular  form,  and  that,  years  after- 
wards, you  see  another  stick  or  stone 
resembling  it,  you  would  instantly  feel  a 
thrill,  a  sensation   of  sudden  beauty  in 


Power  of  Association  Limited      ioi 

the  inanimate  object,  which  you  would 
not  be  able  to  account  for  to  yourself  or 
anybody  else  ;  you  would  kick  it  and  turn 
it  upside  down,  and  say  it  was  an  odd 
stone,  and  you  never  saw  such  a  stone 
before,  and  you  could  not  tell  what  was  in 
the  stone,  but  it  certainly  was  a  beautiful 
stone.  This  illegitimate  connection  of 
ideas  is,  I  think,  what  theorists  mean,  or 
ought  to  mean,  by  association,  and  it 
operates  to  a  vast  extent  on  all  our  sen- 
sations, so  much  so  that  I  suppose  not 
one  of  our  tastes  is  entirely  free  from  it. 
But  it  would  take  an  infinite  deal  of 
association  to  make  me  like  brown  better 
than  red,  though  you  were  to  seal  all 
your  letters  with  brown  wax  henceforth 
for  ever. 

It  might  seem  degrading  our  emo- 
tions of  beauty  to  bring  them  down  so 
completely   to   instincts,    but   as   all   our 


l.^TA  BAllBARA  COLLEGE  LlbRAB. 


102      Instincts  of  a   Healthy  Mind 

admiration  of  natural  objects  is  of 
course  resolvable  into  admiration  of 
colour,  form,  and  size,  with  that  of  power 
and  motion  occurring  at  intervals,  it 
would  seem  to  be  just.  It  seems  to  be 
sometimes  permitted  us  to  trace  the  pur- 
poses of  God  in  giving  us  these  instincts 
— as  painful  sensations  are  generally 
destructive,  and  pleasures  the  contrary  ; 
and  in  our  sensations  of  beauty  it  would 
seem  that  a  healthy  mind  has  a  natural 
attraction  towards,  and  admiration  for, 
attributes  of  material  things,  which  are 
illustrative  of  the  attributes  of  the  Deity. 
All  composition  is,  as  you  know,  based  on 
our  love  of  three  in  one.  A  picture  must 
have  three  centres  of  colour,  three  of 
shade,  three  of  light,  and  these  three 
must  be  so  united  as  to  form  one.  All 
fine  forms  of  nature,  in  hills,  leaves, 
branches — -what    you    will  —  are    triple. 


The   Divine  Attributes  103 

Seven  seems  another  number  connected 
with  Deity.  So  you  have  the  seven 
colours  of  the  lens,  resolvable  into  three, 
forming  one  pure  light  by  their  union. 
So  you  have  the  seven  notes  of  the 
gamut,  resolvable,  I  believe,  into  three. 
So  you  have  the  triangle  as  the  first  and 
simplest  of  all  forms—and  so  on.  But  all 
this  is  mere  speculation,  mere  curious 
coincidence,  perhaps  meant  to  show  us 
that  there  was  a  meaning  in  our  instincts, 
but  not  in  any  degree  elevating  those 
instincts — pure,  unmanageable,  downright 
instincts  they  always  must  be. 

I  am  exceedingly  sorry  to  hear  of  your 
sister's  illness  ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
you  need  therefore  regret  the  want  of 
your  carriage.  In  my  own  case  I  never 
found  the  slightest  benefit  from  carriage 
exercise.  It  seems  to  shake  the  nerves 
about,   but    does    not    stretch   a  muscle. 


104  Personalities 

Motion  of  the  arms  seems  to  be  the  most 
thoroughly  [']  one  can  take  ;  but  it  is 
tiresome  for  an  invaHd,  especially  when, 
as  in  your  sister's  case,  perfect  exercise 
of  limb  and  body  cannot  be  taken.  Pro- 
bably the  cough  was  owing  in  a  great 
degree  to  this  terrible  winter.  If  May 
is  proportionably  warm  with  you,  as  with 
us,  I  hope  it  may  be  entirely  gone. 

I  am  not,  as  I  told  you,  much  better 
myself.  Hitherto  the  climate  relaxes 
most  abominably,  and  all  exertion  be- 
comes fatigue;  but  I  am  now  getting  fresh 
air  all  day — and  all  night,  almost— and  am 
doing  better.  We  hope  to  get  over  the 
Alps  in  about  a  fortnight,  if  they  are 
safe  ;  but  there  is  much  snow  on  them, 
and  the  avalanches  are  very  dangerous 
at  present.  However,  we  [^]  come 
straight  home,  as  straight  as  roads  will 

'  (Spaces  left  where  the  paper  was  torn  under  seal.) 


Health  versus  Plans  105 

go,  and  [']  fast  as  I  can  come — not  above 
forty  miles  a  day  that  is — so  there  will  be 
full  time  for  you  to  let  me  know  the 
result  of  the  Merton  election,  and  any 
other  matters  about  yourself;  and  don't 
be  afraid  of  details,  as  you  call  them — 
a  letter  never  reads  kind  without  them. 

I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  when  I  get 
home.  I  cannot  read,  nor  take  my  de- 
gree, nor  have  I  much  cause  so  to  do  for  a 
year  or  two,  as  I  can  undertake  no  duties. 
I  was  thinking  of  getting  some  small 
place  in  Wales  for  a  laboratory,  and  to 
hold  my  minerals,  among  the  hills,  where 
I  could  have  a  poney  i^.  pony)  and  grow 
my  own  cabbages  ;  and  then  you  must 
come  and  stay  with  me,  and  plan  rooms 
and  put  up  bookcases  together.  It  would 
be  very  nice,  I  think  ;  but  I  have  got 
quite  out  of  the  habit  of  looking  forward 

'  (Spaces  left  where  tlic  paper  was  torn  under  seal.; 


io6     Childhood's  Infinity  of  Happiness 

to  things,  for  I  never  know  one  day 
whether  I  may  not  be  incapacitated  from 
everything  next  morning.  And  every- 
thing disappoints  one  so  desperately  as 
you  get  up  in  age.  That  power  of  being 
happy  with  a  few  violet-seeds  or  fox- 
glove-bells is  so  glorious  in  childhood — 
so  severe  a  loss,  no  prospects  of  men 
can  ever  recompense  it.  Ambition  dis- 
turbs, science  fatigues,  everything  else 
cloys.  Not  but  that  I  can  sail  a  boat  in 
a  gutter  or  build  a  bridge  over  a  rivulet 
still,  with  much  delight  and  self-edifica- 
tion ;  but  one  does  not  like  to  look,  even 
to  one's  reflection  in  the  water,  so  like 
an  idiot.  Senses  of  duty  and  responsibi- 
lity too  are  confounded  bores.  What  a 
nice  thing  it  was  at  six  years  old  to  be 
told  everything  you  were  to  do,  and 
whipped  if  you  did  not  do  it !  One  never 
felt  that  one  had  got  such  a  nasty  thing 


Impressions  of  Venice  107 

as  a  conscience  rustling  and  grumbling 
inside.  I  find  nothing  equal  to  quiet 
drawing  for  occupying  the  whole  mind, 
without  fatiguing  one  of  its  powers.  I 
have  got  a  decent  number  of  sketches, 
forty-seven  large  size  and  thirty-four 
small,  but  even  then  my  eyes  hinder  me. 
I  have  found  nothing  in  all  Italy  com- 
parable to  Venice.  It  is  insulted  by  a 
comparison  with  any  other  city  of  earth 
or  water.  I  cried  all  night  last  time  I 
left  it,  and  I  was  sorry  enough  this  time, 
though,  of  course,  I  have  lost  the  childish 
delight  in  the  mere  splashing  of  the  oar 
and  gliding  of  the  gondola,  which  assisted 
other  and  higher  impressions.  I  got  well 
over  the  Doge's  palace  this  time,  into 
every  hole  and  corner  of  the  prisons, 
over  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  into  all  the 
secret  chambers  of  the  Council  of  Ten. 
It    looks    now  as   if   there   had    been    a 


io8  The  Prisons  of  VENict 

slight  proportion  of  what  one  would  call 
gammon  about  it.  The  prisons  are  un- 
pleasant enough,  chiefly  because,  lying 
under  water,  they  have  no  daylight  and 
not  much  air  ;  but,  for  mere  upholstery,  I 
should  not  suppose  a  cell  of  Newgate 
much  better.  They  are  little  dens  of 
about  8  feet  by  6,  6  feet  high,  cased  with 
wood,  with  a  wooden  immovable  bench  by 
way  of  bedstead  ;  one  circular  hole,  four 
inches  over,  to  admit  air.  The  chambers 
of  torture  are  pretty  well  lighted — they 
are  at  the  top  of  the  palace  ;  but  as  all 
the  black  hangings  are  gone,  and  have 
been  succeeded  by  plaster  walls  of  a 
merry  cream  colour,  they  produce  no 
very  terrific  effect.  This  is  the  most 
thoroughly  stupid  town  of  Italy.  Verona 
is  glorious — Florence  a  bore — Rome  a 
churchyard — Naples  a  Pandemonium — 
Paestum  a  humbug. 


Personalities  109 

I  have  got  your  soap,  and  I  shall  send 
it  you  as  soon  as  I  get  home.  But  I 
hope,  in  spite  of  your  warning",  to  receive 
another  letter  before  then ;  but  don't 
bore  yourself,  if  you  are  busy  about  your 
election.     The  kindest  remembrances  to 

Mrs.  C and  all  your  family.       Ever 

your  most  sincere  friend, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


IX. 

53  Russell  Terrace,  Leamington. 

{My  future  address  till  further  notice.) 

September  27  [Postmark,  1841]. 

My  dear  C 

Your  kind  letter  of  the  18th  with 
its  dissertation  on  the  duties  of  corre- 
spondence puts  me  into  a  very  particular 
quandary.  For  after  a  great  many 
generalities  about  sensible  and  useful 
letter-writers — and  very  proper  resolu- 
tions to  drop  all  who  are  not  sensible 
and  useful  in  all  they  say  or  write — you 
ask  me  pointedly  whether  I  think  this 
a  correct  line  to  draw.  To  which  query, 
if  I  give  a  definite  answer,  you  may  turn 
round  upon  me  with  an  "  Out  of  thine 
own  mouth  will   I  judge  thee,"  and  vow 


The  Value  of  Chit-Chat  hi 

you  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
anybody  writing  such  a  cramped  hand 
and  so  much  nonsense.  Wherefore  all 
I  can  say  is,  that  if  you  keep  me  you 
may  cut  as  many  other  people  as  you 
like  ;  and  if  you  cut  me  your  principles 
are  radically  wrong.  You  say  chit-chat 
on  both  sides  is  wrono;.  Would  it  be 
wrong  to  rest  yourself  in  conversational 
chit-chat  ?  and  is  the  stroke  of  the  pen 
so  very  laborious  as  to  render  that 
which  from  the  tongue  is  recreation, 
labour  from  the  fingers — to  make  what 
would  be  innocent  in  sound,  criminal  in 
sight  ?  Are  there  not  many  five  minutes 
in  the  course  of  the  week  when  an 
instant's  odd  feeling  might  be  noted 
down,  a  perishing  thought  arrested,  a 
passing  "  castle  in  the  air  "  expressed — 
with  much  pleasure  to  your  friend,  and 
perhaps    some    even     to    yourself?       I 


112   Letters  as  a  Test  of  Friendship 

rather  think  that  the  choice  of  our 
correspondents  should  be  referred  ratlier 
to  our  feeHngs  of  pleasure  than  of  duty. 
If  I  think  a  person  can  sympathise 
with  me  in  a  stray  feeling  I  have 
pleasure  in  communicating  it ;  and  more 
in  doing  so  on  paper  than  by  words, 
because  I  can  do  it  more  completely. 
Therefore  I  do  not  look  to  my  corre- 
spondence as  a  duty  to  be  performed,  but 
as  the  very  best  mode  of  entering  into 
society,  because  one  talks  on  paper  with- 
out ever  uttering  absolute  truisms  to  fill 
up  a  pause,  without  ever  losing  one's 
temper,  without  forgetting  what  one  has 
got  to  say,  without  being  subjected  to  any 
of  the  thousand  and  one  ills  and  accidents 
of  real  conversation.  Therefore  if  I  like 
a  friend  at  all,  I  like  him  on  paper. 
And  to  say  I  will  not  correspond  with 
a  person  is  just  the  same   as  saying   I 


Society  a   Penance  113 

will  not  know  him  more  than  I  am 
compelled  to  do.  This  is  going  very 
far — but  I  hate  society  in  general.  I 
have  no  pleasure,  but  much  penance,  in 
even  the  presence  of  nine  out  of  ten 
human  beings.  Those  only  I  like  to  be 
with,  whom  I  like  to  write  to — and  vice 
versa.  I  think,  therefore,  when  you  say 
that  you  cannot  conscientiously  corre- 
spond with  people,  it  is  much  the  same  as 
saying  you  cannot  associate  with  them. 
For  surely  time  is  generally  ten  thou- 
sand times  more  wasted  in  the  common- 
places of  the  tongue,  than  in  selecting 
such  pieces  of  our  mind  as  would  be 
glad  of  sympathy,  and  folding  them  in 
the  sheet  of  paper  for  our  friend.  I 
don't  think  it  ouo-ht  to  be  labour.  You 
should  learn  to  write  with  your  eyes 
shut,  and  then  it  is  mere  exercise  of  the 
right  hand. 

H 


114     Entomology  and  its  Drawbacks 

You  ask  me  if  I  am  thinking  about 
my  degree.  If  my  health  continues  to 
improve  I  shall  go  up  for  a  pass  next 
Easter.  Jephson  says  he  will  make  me 
perfectly  well  ;  he  has  made  me  much 
fatter  already — or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, less  lean.  Chest  I  think  a  little 
better;  altogether  I  am  under  no  anxiety. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  I  know  absolutely 
nothing  of  entomology.  I  have  a  great 
respect  for  the  science ;  but  I  always 
thought  it  a  disagreeable  one  in  practice, 
partly  from  the  constant  life-taking,  partly 
from  the  concatenation  of  camphoric 
smells  which  one's  collection  constantly 
exhales,  and  partly  because — to  make 
any  progress — a  constant  dissection  and 
anatomising  must  be  gone  into,  really  as 
laborious  and  half  as  disgusting  as  any 
transaction  at  Surgeons'  Hall.  I  was 
much    tempted  to  begin  botany  among 


Studies  for  a  Lifetime  115 

the  ruins  of  Rome,  but  I  found  It  did  not 
suit  my  eyes  at  all,  and  gave  it  up. 
I  find  quite  enough  to  do  with  the 
sciences  necessary  to  geology.  Che- 
mistry and  fossil  ichthyology  are 
enough  for  a  lifetime  in  themselves. 
Do  you  know,  I  don't  remember  recom- 
mending any  political  life  of  Burke. 
Nor  do  I  think  such  a  thing  has  been 
produced  by  any  friend  of  mine.  You 
had  better  think  over  your  acquaint- 
ances, lest  you  pass  the  real  recom- 
mender  thankless  by. 

You  ask  me  if  I  would  not  prefer 
notes  often  to  letters  seldom.  I  don't 
know.  Notes  are  always  half  filled  up 
with  dates  and  signatures  and  formula. 
But  if,  without  wasting  time  on  any  such 
rubbish,  you  will  write  on  pleasantly 
and  easily  to  yourself,  and  as  the  bits 
are  done  send  each  off— a  thought  now 


ii6      Alison's  "History  of  Europe" 

and  a  thought  then,  with  E.  C.  at  the 
bottom  and  no  "my  dear  J.,"  nor  hopes 
of  anything,  nor  remembrance  to  any- 
body— then  I  should  most  certainly 
prefer  hearing  often  of  you  to  getting 
a  double  sheet  once  a  twelvemonth. 
Remember,  however,  that  the  notes  are 
the  actual  losers  of  time  in  folding, 
sealing  and  posting.  Still  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  should  not  be  the  gainer 
by  it,  for  unless  you  keep  your  long 
letters  by  you,  and  write  a  bit  now  and 
a  bit  then,  there  will  certainly  be  less  in 
it  than  in  the  aggregate  of  notes. 

I  am  a  sad  fellow  for  new  books — I  see 
very  few.  Alison's  "  History  of  Europe"' 
has  an  over-reputation  at  present.  I 
am  reading  it,  and  find  it  verbose  and 
inconsistent  with  itself  in  opinions  and 
arguments.        But    as    a    statement    of 

'  (Cf.  "  Modern  Painters,"  vol.  ii. — Ed.) 


Alison's  "History  of  Europe"       117 

facts  I  should  think  it  excellent.  There 
were  several  things  I  had  to  say  I 
haven't  said,  but  I  will  write  again  soon. 
Sincere  regards  to  all  your  family. 

Ever  most  truly  your  friend, 

J,  RUSKIN. 


X. 

Herne  Hill, 
Wednesday — 25//;,  /  think — Noi 
[Postmark  1841]. 


My  dear  C- 


I  did  not  answer  your  7iofe,  because 
I  wanted  to  have  gone  over  to  Twicken- 
ham first ;  and  I  did  not  instantly  answer 
your  letter,  because  I  was  very  much 
vexed  at  finding  I  was  too  late,  and  be- 
cause I  wanted  to  look  over  your  letter 
carefully  before  answering  it.  It  was  in 
the  main  much  what  I  expected  ;  and  as 
you  say  you  dislike  reasoning  on  these 
subjects,  I  will  say  no  more,  especially 
because  I  think  I  have  no  right  to  run 
the  risk,  in  asking  for  light  from  others, 
of  extending  my  darkness  in  any  degree 


Death  and  Eiernitv  119 

to  them,  which  I  might  possibly  do  even 
to  the  firmest  faiths,  without  deriving 
equivalent  benefit.  But  I  will  ask  you 
two  more  questions :  i .  Do  you  think  that 
there  is  any  chance  for  part  of  mankind 
of  dying  altogether — of  annihilation,  as 
so  far  supported  by  that  text — "They 
who  shall  be  accounted  worthy  to  obtain 
the  resurrection  from  the  dead " — and 
some  others?  2.  If  you  do  not  believe 
this,  do  you  really  believe  in  an  eternity 
of  extreme  bodily  and  menttil  torment 
for  nine-tenths  or  some  such  proportion 
of  mankind  ? 

Your  letter  is  very  unsatisfactory  in 
one  respect — that  it  does  not  tell  me  any- 
thing about  anybody,  except  that  '"  they 
are  gone  to  Cheltenham  for  the  winter," 
which,  however  beneficial  it  is  to  be 
hoped  it  may  prove  to  the  ladies  in- 
cluded in  the  pronoun,  is  not  particularly 


120      Horses  the  Curse  of  England 

pleasant  news  for  7ne.  Is  all  your  family 
gone  ?  and  how  are  they  ?  and  how  are 
you  ?  and  what  have  you  been  idling  at 
Twickenham  for?  how  much  leave  of 
absence  have  you  ? 

I  don't  agree  with  your  note  (never 
acknowledged)  in  its  eulogium  on  horses. 
I  can't  endure  them  ;  they  are  the 
curse  of  England,  and  make  horses  of 
half  our  gentlemen.  They  are  very 
good  sort  of  things  for  devil-may-care, 
simoomy  blackguards  of  Ishmaelites  to 
make  friends  of,  or  steaks  of — as  the 
case  may  require ;  but  for  civilised 
creatures  like  us  to  risk  our  necks  and 
brains  upon,  too  bad.  There's  Kars- 
lake  :  he  would  really  draw  well  if  he 
didn't  like  horses  ;  but  he  never  gets  hold 
of  a  piece  of  paper  without  covering 
it  with  indelicate  rumps  and  cocky  tails, 
and  runs  the  risk  every  day  of  his  life  of 


Studying  with  Harding  121 

terminating  his  earthly  career  in  a  ditch, 
with  an  affectionate  series  of  friends  to — 
leap  over  him.  A  cowardly,  ungenerous 
brute  too,  taking  instant  advantage  of  a 
weak  rider,  and  never  behaving  decently 
but  when  it  can't  help  it.  Horses 
indeed !  They  are  not  even  useful  on 
paper.  A  cow  is  good  for  something ; 
a  stag,  a  crow,  a  sheep,  a  goat,  a  goose, 
anything  but  a  horse,  will  do  people 
good  when  they  get  into  a  scrape  in 
composition  ;  but  anything  equestrian  is 
ruin.      Don't  talk  to  me  about  horses. 

It  is  late,  and  I  am  obliged  to  take  so 
much  exercise  that  I  have  hardly  any 
time  for  letter-writing.  I  am  studying 
with  Harding  too  for  foliage,  and  he 
gives  me  a  great  deal  to  do  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose I  can  be  of  no  further  use  to  you, 
you  have  cut  all  these  things.  Must  I, 
when  I  follow  you  ? 


122  Personalities 

Remember  me  most  kindly  to  all  your 
family  when  you  write.  Send  me  at 
least  a  note  when  you  can.  All  here 
join  with  me  in  kind  regards. — Ever 
most  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


XI. 

[The  outside  sheet  of  a  letter 

hearing  postmark  Dec.  22,  1841]. 

You  ask  me  for  some  doM  things  in 
pencil  to  copy.  If  c/ia/k  will  answer 
your  purpose,  I  will  send  you  some 
fragments  of  Harding  (under  whom  I 
am  hard  at  work  on  foliage  now),  which 
are  worth  five  thousand  of  anything  of 
mine  ;  and  if  you  want  materials  I  will 
get  them  sent  you.  These  bits  are  only 
^rees,  however,  and  ground ;  if  you  want 
architecture,  I  must  try  my  own  hand. 
Pray  do  not  give  up  your  drawing  ; 
the  great  use  of  it  is,  that  it  enables 
you  to  seize  and  retain  thousands  of 
ideas  which  would  otherwise  escape 
you,    merely    by    their    picturesqueness. 


124  "Friendship's  Offering" 

Depend  upon  it,  it  raises  the  mind  as 
much  as  it  recreates  it. 

I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  of  your 
sister's  returning  health,  after  her  late 
severe  trial.  I  hope  the  severity  of  this 
winter,  early  set  in  as  it  is,  will  not 
throw  her  back.     Are  you  going  to  stay 

at    W all    winter  ?    I   shall  wait  to 

hear  from  you  before  sending  the  draw- 
ings, as  though  they  are  mere  scraps 
and  boughs  on  odd  corners  of  paper,  I 
should  not  like  to  lose  them.  You  will 
receive  herewith,  I  hope,  a  copy  of  F. 
Off^^  for  next  year,  of  which  I  crave 
your  acceptance,  and,  if  you  ever  con- 
descend to  such  light  work  now,  critical 
perusal. 

Remember  me  to  all  your  family,  and 

1  ("Friendship's  Offering"  for  1842,  containing 
"  Tlie  Last  Song  of  Arion  "  and  "  The  Hills  of  Car- 
rara." Cf.  "  Poems  of  John  Ruskin,"  published  in 
complete  form  in  1S91. — Ed.) 


Personalities  125 

with  kindest  wishes  of  the  season  for 
them  and  you,  beHeve  me,  ever  most 
truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 

I  send  your  sermon  b^ick  by  this  post. 


XII. 

[No  date]. 

Dear  C 

Looking  over  my  letters  to-day,  I 
came  across  your  questions,  which  with 
shame  I  recollect  7io^  to  have  answered. 
You  vi?ist  have  a  holder  for  your  chalks — 


X 

though  you  should  often  take  them  this 
way,  pinching '  between  your  thumb  and 
two  first  fingers,  but  letting  it  go  clear 
through    your   hand.     You    should    also 


^  The  point  of  the  second  finger  is  seen 
below  the  thumb  ;  it  therefore  touches  the 
chalk  with  the  hollow  of  its  uppermost  joint. 


Hints  for  Chalk-Drawing         127 

place  your  paper  upright,  as  on  an  easel, 
in  sketching,  and  sketch  holding  your 
pencil  exactly  as  you  would  a  foil  or 
broadsword.  This  will  give  you  a  feel- 
ing and  touch,  so  to  speak,  all  tip  your 
arm.  You  may  use  common  writing- 
paper  to  practise  shading  or  separate 
touches,  per  sc,  as  mere  exercise  of  hand, 
but  you  must  not  attempt  copying  ex- 
cept on  proper  paper :  we  have  quite 
enough  difficulties  to  contend  with  with- 
out making  them. — Ever  yours. 

J.  K. 


XIII. 

[Postmark,  February  21,  1842]. 


My  dear  C 

You  really  are  a  very  good  boy.  I 
have  not  got  so  nice  a  letter  from  you 
this  year  past,  and  was  afraid  you  were 
losing  your  spirit,  getting  dull,  or  blue, 
or  lazy,  or  ill  ;  but  this  last  is  quite  satis- 
factory, and  so  I  send  you  back  a  leaf 
of  your  sermon  which,  having  accident- 
ally dropped  out  as  I  was  packing  it  up, 
and  remained  undiscovered  till  the  rest 
was  posted,  has  been  thenceforward  de- 
tained by  me,  in  hopes  you  might  7;iiss 
it  (as  I  heard  an  omnibus  cad  remark 
to  an  old  lady  the  other  day  as  he 
picked  her  bag  up  out  of  the  straw : 
"  P'raps,    marm,    if  you    don't    take    it 


Choice  of  Correspondents  129 

with  you  you'll  miss  it"),  and  send  after 
it,  and  I  might  thereby  get  a  letter  out 
of  you. 

What  do  you  mean  by  your  post- 
script ?  To  whom  should  I  write  if  not 
to  the  only  one  of  my  friends  whom  I 
cannot  see  ?  I  made  very  few  at  col- 
lege, most  of  them  above  my  sphere  of 
life,  and  therefore  necessarily  lost  as 
soon  as  I  left.  Acland  I  see  every  now 
and  then  ;  and  he  is  fifty  times  worse 
than  you  at  answering,  for  I  never  got 
but  two  decent  letters  out  of  him,  and 
you — before  you  had  something  better 
to  do — sent  me  many. 

Why  do  you  say  you  have  no  ideas 
in  common  with  me  ?  I  should  be  very 
sorry  for  my  own  sake  if  such  were  the 
case  ;  and  if  it  wej-e,  it  would  only  render 
our  letters  more  useful  to  each  other 
and.   according  to   your    own    principle, 


130    Indolence  makes  People  Morose 

render  correspondence  something  like  a 
duty. 

Why  do  you  call  yourself  "  indolent?  " 
It  is  one  of  the  last  faults  I  should  have 
thought  of  in  you.  My  impression  of 
you  has  always  been  as  of  a  person  of 
singularly  active,  somewhat  changeable, 
energetic,  and  cheerful  disposition.  I 
never  remember  seeing  you  idle  or 
disposed  to  be  so  for  a  second,  and  I  am 
certain  that  an  indolent  person  could  not 
possibly  have  been  so  unvarying  in  their 
sweetness  of  temper.  Idleness  or  indo- 
lence always  makes  people  morose  ;  while 
I  never  remember  seeing  the  spring 
or  the  gentleness  of  your  mind  fail.  I 
must  have  a  talk  with  you  about  it  some 
time. 

I  am  busy  enough  just  now,  and  shall 
be,  for  these  two  months,  hardly  able  to 
write  to  anybody.      I  believe  I  shall  go 


Hints  for  Shading  131 

up  to  Oxford  somewhere  about  April- 
Fool  Day — by  way  of  doing  things  con- 
sistently— as  the  examinations  begin  on 
the  15th,  and  I  want  to  be  a  fortnight 
with  Mr.  Brown  before  they  begin.  I 
should  be  glad  if  I  could  see  you  at 
Heme  Hill  first;  for  you,  by  your  own 
account,  and  I,  without  doubt,  shall  be 
plagued  enough  at  Oxford. 

I  am  glad  you  like  the  drawings,  as 
far  as  they  go  ;  they  are  things  which 
you  can  take  up  for  five  minutes  and 
drop  again  (in  copying),  in  a  convenient 
way  for  a  busy  life.  By-the-bye,  notice 
that  your  paper  has  tivo  sides,  and  draw 
on  the  smooth  one.  If,  when  you  are 
tired  of  everything  else,  you  will  just 
take  up  your  chalk  and  a  bit  of  waste 
paper  and  cover  it  with  this  sort  of 
thing,  endeavouring  to  get  the  shade  at 
once,  clear  and  evcUy  not  blacker  at  one 


132      "A   Private  Judgment  Man" 

part  than  another,  with  a  broad  point, 
you  will  always  be  making  progress ; 
changing  the  direction,  as  at  a^  makes  it 


^^^ 


^%-^" 


look  more  flexible.  When  really  applied 
to  foliage,  you  can  do  it  with  your  eyes 
shut,  as  it  is  a  mechanical  habit  of  hand 
that  is  wanted. 

Thank  you  for  taking  my  impudence 
about  your  sermon  so  good-naturedly. 
I  should  almost  be  glad  to  be  what 
you  call  me — a  private  judgment  man — 
rather  than  the  nothing  I  am  ;  but  I  find 
it  so  intolerably  difficult  to  come  to 
any   conclusion    on    the    matter,    that    I 


Meaning  of  the   Word  "Church"     133 

remain  neither  one  thing  nor  another. 
Both  extremes,  I  feel  certain,  are  wrong, 
but  where  or  how  to  fix  the  mean  I 
know  not.  Whom  to  beheve  impHcitly — 
whom  to  pay  respect  to — whom  to  dispute 
with — whom  to  judge — I  cannot  tell ; 
never  can  attach  any  real  practical  mean- 
ing to  the  word  ''church."  Does  it 
mean  my  prayer-book — or  my  pastor — 
or  St.  Augustine  ?  or  am  I  generally  to 
believe  all  three,  and  yet  dispute  parti- 
cular assertions  of  each  ?  One  thing 
only  I  know — that  I  had  rather  be  a 
Papist  than  a  dissenter — or  a  member  of 
the  Church  of  Scotland ;  and  I  think 
the  error  of  blind  credence  is  error  on 
the  right  side,  but  it  is  an  error  for  all 
that ;  and  when  to  stop,  or  why  to  stop,  or 
how  to  stop,  in  belief  of  interpretation 
or  teachinof,  I  cannot  tell.  I  have  not 
time  to  write  more.      I  did  not  mean  to 


134  Personalities 

object  to  your  statement — that  Christ 
was  to  judge  the  zohok  world— but  to 
express  some  wonder  at  your  implied 
suspicion  of  our  believing  that  he  was 
only  to  judge  half  oi  it. 

I  have  not  said  half  I  had  to  say  (no 
more  impudence,  however),  but  I  am 
bothered  with  this  degree  ;  I  can't  write 
Latin — I  am  nervous.  I  am  very  glad  to 
hear  all  your  family  circle  have  escaped 
the  winter  well.  I  don't  think  I  can  get 
to  Twickenham  before  I  go  to  Oxford, 
but  shall  wait  on  them  instantly  on  re- 
turning.— Ever  most  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


XIV. 

{_Posliiiark,  March  12,  1842]. 


My  dear  C- 


You  are  better  than  good.'  I  had  no 
hopes  of  another  letter  so  soon  ;  mighty 
pretty  too  ;  many  thanks.  But  I  haven't 
time  for  a  word,  except  just  to  express 
my  obHgations  for  the  bit  of  George 
Herbert,  whom  I  think  I  shall  bring 
out  some  day  in  an  illuniinated  missal 
form,  all  gold  and  sky  blue,  as  he  ought 
to  be  —  the  most  heavenly  writer  I 
know. 

To    answer   about    shade.     The    two 

'  (This  sentence  is  erased  in  the  original,  and 
the  following  paragraph  inserted  above:— "I  kept 
this  two  days,  expecting  to  see  you.  As  you  haven't 
come  I  send  it,  only  erasing  my  first  too  favourable 
expression  of  opinion." — Eu.) 


136  Requisites  in  Shading 

great  requisites  in  shade  are :  first, 
"evenness,"  that  is,  that  one  part  of 
it  shall  not  be  irregularly  or  accident- 
ally darker  than  another,  but  that  it 
should  be  quite  flat  and  equal,  for  this  it 
always  does  in  nature ;  and,  secondly, 
"transparency,"  which  means  that  it 
should  look  (in  a  tree)  as  if  you  could 
fly  through  it  if  you  were  a  bird, 
or  (in  anything  else)  as  if  it  were 
something  not  laid  on  the  object,  but 
between  you  and  it,  through  which  you 
saw  it. 

Now,  so  that  you  secure  these  two 
qualities,  it  matters  not  in  the  least  what 
means  you  secure  them  by  ;  only,  the 
less  the  means  are  visible  the  better  is 
the  drawing,  because  the  means  of  nature 
are  never  visible  ;  that  is,  in  a  mass  of 
shade,  you  cannot  distinguish  or  arrange 
the  individual   touches  of  shade  (as  in 


Lessons  in  Shading  137 

leaves)  by  which  it  is  produced.  But 
you  will  soon  find  that  if  two  touches  of 
chalk  cross  each  other  they  are  darker 
together  than  separately  ;  if, 
therefore,  you  produce  your 
shade  thus : 
(supposing  each  of  the  groups  of  ink 
strokes  to  represent  one  broad  chalk 
touch)  you  will  have  your  shade  darker  at 
the  intersections  than  between  them,  and 
thus  lose  evenness ;  therefore,  the  lines 
must  not  pass  over  one  another,  though 
they  should  often  touch.  If,  again,  you 
leave  no  white  paper  between,  you  lose 
transparency,  the  interstices  of  the  foli- 
age, and,  therefore,  you  must  be  able 
to  arrange  touches  so  as  never  to 
cross  or  interfere  with  each  other,  and 
yet  to  touch  and  separate  irregularly  and 
playfully  as  leaves  do.  Now  it  is  found 
by    experience    that    the    means    most 


138 


Lessons  in  Shading 


calculated  to  produce  this  impression  are 
touches  of  this  kind: 


very  badly  done,  by-the-bye,  for  there 
was  a  hair  in  my  pen,  which  has  blotted, 
and  so  lost  the  very  thing  most  wanted, 
evenness. 

These  touches  are  susceptible  of  great 
change  of  character,  in  shortness,  sharp- 
ness, character  of  extremities,  individual 
breadth  of  line,  &c.,  according  to  the 
tree  you  want ;  but  the  great  thing  to  be 
noticed  in  them  is,  that  if  one  be  sharp 


Lessons   in  Shadinc;  139 

and  black  It  will  not  unite,  or  be  in  har- 
mony with  another,  but 
will  be  like  a  discord  in 
music,  unless  all  are  of 
the  same  tone  and  cha- 
racter or,  at  least,  chang- 
ing gradually. 

Now,  2X  first,  the  more 
regularly  and  symmetric- 
ally you  can  do  your 
shadow  thus,  so  that  all 
the  points  a,  b,  c,  d,  will  be 
in  one  line,  that  line  itself  bending  like 
foliage,  by-the-bye,  and  so 
on,  and  each  line  at  exactly 
the  same  distance  from  its 
neighbour.  My  step  at  e, 
being  too  big,  spoils  the 
whole.  The  sooner,  I  say, 
you  can  do  this,  the  sooner  will  you  be  able 
to  conceal  all  this  artificial  mechanism. 


140  The  Art  of  Shadinc; 

and  let  your  pencil  run  about  the 
paper  as  carelessly  as  Nature  herself, 
quite  sure  it  cannot  do  wrong,  for  this 
regularity  is  not  visibly  present  in  good 
drawing,  the  best  drawing  of  all  being 
that  in  which  you  can  least  tell  what  has 
been  done,  or  how  it  has  been  done  ;  in 
which  you  cannot  distinguish  touches,  or 
say  where  the  pencil  touched  paper  first 
and  where  it  left  it ;  those  drawings,  in 
fact,  which  it  is  physically  impossible  to 
copy  touch  for  touch. 

But  it  is  not  till  you  have  acquired  the 
power  of  producing  this  perfect  symmetry 


When  Freedom  should  Come       141 

of  shade  that  your  hand  is  to  be  let 
loose  to  do  whst  it  likes.  So  in  out- 
line you  must  begin  tlius — plague  take 
it,  I  can't  do  it  to-night — try  again. 

But  all  this  mechanism  is  afterwards  to 
be  loosened,  and  mixed  up,  when  your 
hand  gets  used  to  it,  and  to  become 


&c.,  even  this  being  twenty  times  too 
symmetrical  to  be  right.  But  I  can  show 
you  more  with  the  chalk  in  your  hand 
in  five  minutes  than  thus  in  an  hour, 
for  the  pen  will  not  give  my  mean- 
ing ;  so  you  must  come  and  see  me. 

I  hope  I  shall  have  seen  you,  indeed, 
before  you  get  this  letter.  If  I  don't, 
I    will  send  another    in  a  raee   after   it. 


142  Personalities. 

Meantime,  my  mother's  kind  regards 
— governor  travelling — mine  to  all  at 
Twickenham.  Forgive  this  scrawl — I 
am  very  sleepy.      Ever  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


XV. 

[The  outside  sheet  of  a  letter. 

hea.ring  postmark,  August  19,  1842]. 

I  have  also  spent,  as  I  suppose  almost 
everybody  has,  much  time  in  endeav- 
ouring to  colour  before  I  could  draw, 
and  to  produce  beauty  before  I  could 
produce  truth.  Luckily,  there  was 
always  sufficient  work  in  my  drawings 
to  do  my  hand  a  little  good  ;  and  I  got 
on — though  very  slowly — far  enough  to 
see  I  was  on  the  wrong  road.  The  time 
was  wasted,  but  did  not  do  me  harm. 
Now  I  hardly  ever  touch  colour — never 
work  from  imagination — and  aim  so 
laboriously  at  truth  as  to  copy,  if  I  have 
nothing  else  to  copy,  the  forms  of  the 
stones  in  the  heaps  broken  at  the  side 


144    Employment  of  Restricted  Leisure 

of  the;  road.  Now  therefore  I  am 
o'ettint>"  on,  and  look  forward  to  ultimate 
power  and  success. 

But  all  this  does  not  apply  completely 
to  your  case.  If  your  other  engagements 
put  it  out  of  your  power  to  make  consis- 
tent effort,  if  you  are  hopeless  of  going  so 
far  as  to  have  your  reward,  do  not  waste 
the  few  moments  you  have  upon  the  gram- 
matical work,  of  which  quantity  is  re- 
quired before  it  will  pay.  Ten  minutes  a 
day,  or  say  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  regularly 
and  severely  employed  when  you  get  up, 
or  before  dinner,  or  at  any  time  when  you 
must  be  at  home,  would  ensure  progress 
and  power  ;  but  if  you  cannot  do  this, 
better  give  your  hour  a  month  to  amuse- 
ment. Make  it  as  pleasing  as  you  can 
to  yourself ;  for  it  would  do  you  no 
real  good,  however  directed.  I  cannot 
understand  even  a  Prime  Minister's  being 


Employment  of  Restricted  Leisure    145 

SO  busy  as  not  to  be  able  to  have  a  little 
table  and  closet  or  corner,  with  all  his 
things  lying  constantly  ready  in  their 
places.  No  putting  away  and  taking  out 
again,  mind;  and  sitting  down  at  quarter 
to  eight  every  morning,  and  getting  up 
and  going  down  to  breakfast  at  eight — 
always  locking  yourself  in,  and  never 
talking  to  anybody,  nor  thinking  of  any- 
thing else  at  the  time.  And  where  so 
little  time  is  given  it  ought,  if  possible, 
to  be  early  in  the  day  ;  otherwise  the 
hand  may  be  shaky  and  the  mind  dis- 
tracted— especially  with  clergymen,  or 
any  persons  obliged  to  pass  through 
serious  scenes  of  duty.  I  do  think  that, 
if  you  are  punctual  with  y(mr  meals, 
you  would  never  feel  the  quartet'  of  an 
hour,  either  just  before  or  just  after 
breakfast,  as  any  loss  to  your  day. 

I  fully  agree  with  you,  that  the  success 


146    The  Growth  ok  Art  Princu'le^ 

of  your  present  desultory  efforts  should 
encourage  you,  and  induce  you  to  con- 
sistent   ones,   as    proving  a  certainty  of 
their  being  rewarded  ;  but  it  should  not 
make    you    think    you    can    do    without 
them.      Even  supposing  you  to  succeed 
to  the  utmost  of  your  expectations,  yet 
you     never     would     gain     any     certain 
knowledge  of  Art.     You  would  be  per- 
petually   in    doubt    and    indecision    re- 
specting what  was  really  right  or  wrong 
— liking    one    thing    one    day,    another 
another — a    state    very    different    from 
the  gradual   dawn  and  determination  of 
fixed  principles,   which  day  by  day   rise 
out  of  your  practice,  and  prop   you   for 
further  effort.    The  delicious  sensation  of 
a    new    truth    settled,   a    new    source    of 
beauty  discovered  ;    for  the  consequence 
of  real  progress  in  art  is  never  that  we 
dislike  what  we  once  admired,  but  that 


The  Test  of  Real  Progress        147 

we  admire  what  we  once  despised,  and 
that  progress  may  always  be  tested  by 
the  power  of  admiration  increased,  the 
capacity  for  pleasure  expanded. 

Time  was  (when  I  began  drawing)  that 
I  used  to  think  a  picturesque  or  beautiful 
tree  was  hardly  to  be  met  with  once  a 
month  ;  I  cared  for  nothing  but  oaks 
a  thousand  years  old,  split  by  lightning 
or  shattered  by  wind,  or  made  up  for 
my  worship's  edification  in  some  par- 
ticular and  distinguished  way.  Now, 
there  is  not  a  twig  in  the  closest-clipt 
hedge  that  grows,  that  I  cannot  ad- 
mire, and  wonder  at,  and  take  pleasure 
in,  and  learn  from,  I  think  one  tree 
very  nearly  as  good  as  another,  and 
all  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful 
than  I  once  did  my  picked  ones  ;  but 
I  admire  tJiosc  more  than  I  could  then, 
tenfold. 


148     Increased  Powers  of  Perception 

Now  this  power  of  enjoyment  is  worth 
working  for,  not  merely  for  enjoyment, 
but  because  it  renders  you  less  imperfect 
as  one  of  God's  creatures — more  what 
he  would  have  you,  and  capable  of 
forming — I  do  not  say  truer  or  closer, 
because  you  cannot  approach  infinity — 
but  far  higher  ideas  of  His  intelligence. 
Whether,  to  attain  such  an  end,  you 
cannot,  by  a  little  determination,  spare 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  a  day,  I  leave  to 
your  conscience. 

I  had  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  but 
it  would  be  merciless  to  cross  such  a 
hand  as  mine. 

We  arrived  here  this  morning,  having 
come  back  by  the  Rhine  from  Cha- 
monix,  where  we  stopped  a  full  month, 
with  infinite  benefit  both  to  body  and 
mind.  Lost  a  little  in  ill-temper  at 
the   muddy,   humbuggy,   vinegar-banked 


"The  Vinegar-Banked  Rhine"      149 

Rhine,  but  very  well  on  the  whole.  I 
will  write  as  soon  again  as  I  can,  but 
shall  be  rather  busy  at  home  for  a 
month  or  two.  Remember  me  respect- 
fully to  Mrs.  C and  all  your  circle. 

With  best  wishes  for  the  renewal  of 
your  sister's  health,  believe  me  ever 
most  truly  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


XVI. 

[Postwnrk,  September  19,  1842]. 


My  dear  C- 


I  had  intended  beinof  beforehand  widi 
you,  as  my  last  letter  was  rather  a 
complaint  than  a  chat,  but  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  your  last,  even  though  it 
is  a  little  unruly.  And  so,  because  it 
doesn't  suit  you  to  do  precisely  what  is 
rto-/i^  in  art,  you  will  do  nothing.  You 
won't  draw  at  all,  because  you  ought  to 
finish  your  sketches  if  you  did.  Do 
finish  your  sketches,  in  the  name  of  all 
that's  industrious.  Many  an  hour  have 
I  wasted  over  half-work,  which  I  didn't 
like,  which  would  have  been  profitable 
had  I  spent  it  in  my  own  way  ;  but  I 
denied   myself    the    pleasure,    and    yet 


Truth  an  Essential  in  Sketching    151 

dawdled  over  the  work,  and  so  lost 
both  play  and  profit ;  and  thus  your 
conscience  is  too  delicate  to  admit  of 
your  doing  what  you  like  in  drawing, 
but  not  too  delicate  to  let  you  do 
nothing  at  all.  Finishing  your  sketches 
will  do  you  a  great  deal  of  good,  in 
mechanical  matters — though  I  very 
much  doubt  the  expediency  of  finishing, 
unless  the  very  day  or  hour  after  the 
sketch  has  been  taken.  To  foro^et  a  thinof 
is  better  than  to  be  deceived  in  it ;  and  it 
is  better  that  your  sketches  should  tell  you 
a  little  truth,  than  a  great  deal  of  false- 
hood. It  is  better  that  they  should  be 
feeble  in  verity  than  distinct  in  deception. 
However,  I  believe  you  will  take  your 
own  way  at  last,  and  so  it  is  no  use  talking. 
I  have  not  seen  the  book  you  speak 
of,  but  if  it  praises  Turner  imqnalifiedly 
you  may  trust  to  it. 


152  Varying  Pursuits 

I  think,  judging  by  my  own  feelings, 
you  were  very  right  in  refusing  the 
vicarage.  A  clergyman's  life  in  a 
crowded  parish  seems  to  me  the  most 
dangerous  to  health  and  life,  and  the 
most  replete  with  every  kind  of  annoy- 
ance, of  any  other  state  of  virtuous  life. 
If  you  are  comfortable  where  you  are, 
i't'^wo  is  not  the  sort  of  portion  which 
should  induce  a  change  ;  but  I  don't 
think  many  men  would  have  been  so 
prudent. 

Do  you  do  nothing  but  divinity  now  ? 
have  you  no  varying  pursuit  ?  What 
books  are  you  reading.-*  Do  you 
botanise  at  all  ?  it  is  surely  a  clerical 
science,  if  there  be  one  in  the  world. 
I  don't  think,  by-the-bye,  in  your  chemi- 
cal question  at  end  of  last  letter,  you 
have  stated  the  facts  correctly.  I  don't 
think  that  a  more  rapid  loss  of  caloric 


Appetite  Dependent  on  Temperature  153 

takes  place  in  mutton  than  in  beef,  but 
that  the  point  of  congelation  is  higher. 
Dip  your  thermometer  into  the  gravy 
at  freezing-point,  and  if  it  determines  a 
lower  temperature,  we  will  farther 
consider  of  it ;  but  be  particular  that  the 
quantity  of  carbon  developed  by  the 
cook  in  the  form  of  what  people 
commonly  and  irrationally  call  "brown" 
be  equal  in  both  the  joints,  as  this 
circumstance  will  very  much  affect 
radiation. 

When  may  I  hope  to  see  you  ?  I 
believe  I  shall  be  in  town  now  for  a 
year — really  quiet — perhaps  for  two,  as 
we  are  going  to  change  our  house  in  a 
fortnight ;'  and  I  intend  to  try  some 
experiments  in  the  way  of  flower  effect. 
People     usually     consider     Howes     as 

'  (Reference  to  the  removal  from  Hcrnc  Hill  to 
Denmark  Hill. — Ed.) 


154      Flower  Effects  in  Landscape 

individual  pets,  and  not  as  coloured 
media,  by  which  a  landscape  may  be 
artistically  affected — "aff"  or  "eff,"  which- 
ever you  like  :  and  when  I  have  got  my 
gentians  and  violets  into  proper  tone, 
you  must  come  and  criticise. 

I  got  really  rather  fond  of  flowers  at 
Chamonix,  for  there  nature  uses  them 
as  I  say — not  to  deck  a  bank,  but  to 
paint  a  mountain. 

I  intended  to  have  sent  you  a  drawing 
as  you  desired  me,  on  the  8th,  but  couldn't 
find  one  fit. 

Accept  my  kindest  wishes,  in  which 
all  join.  I  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
get  over  to  Twickenham  for  some  time, 
being  in  a  bustle  with  moving,  and 
busy  besides  with  art,  chemistry,  and  a 
little  Greek. — Ever  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


WAS  THERE  DEATH  BEFORE 

ADAM   FELL,   IN    OTHER    PARTS 

OF  CREATION? 

I.  It  is  always  to  be  remembered  that 
geologists,  and,  generally,  the  assertcrs 
of  the  existence  of  death  previous  to  the 
Fall,  appeal  not  to  any  text  of  Scripture 
for  proof  of  their  assertion — they  affirm 
only  that  Scripture  leaves  the  matter 
entirely  undecided  ;  and  that  therefore 
they  are  at  liberty  to  follow  out  the 
conclusions  to  which  they  are  led  by 
other  evidence.  Hence,  when  it  is 
allowed  that  such  and  such  a  text  "can 
neither  prove  nor  disprove "  anything 
relating  to  the  question,  they  have  all 
that  they  contend  for. 

I  did  not  therefore  bring  forward  the 
text,  Rom.  viii.  22,  as  in  any  vj^y  proving 


156  Distinctions  in  Scriptural  Evidence 

what  I  asserted,  but  because  I  have 
heard  it  over  and  over  again  used  on 
the  other  side,  as  a  proof  that  all  animals 
were  affected  by  the  curse  on  Adam. 

Now,  what  Miss  C says,  that  the 

word  ktisis  is  used  of  the  animal  creation 
in  other  places,  is  quite  true  ;  but  there 
is  a  peculiarity  in  the  use  of  the  article 
before  it,  in  this  verse,  which  limits  it  to 
man.  The  first  and  pure  sense  of  this 
word  is  "the  act  of  creation,"  in  which 
sense  it  is  opposed  to  ktisma,  which 
means  "a  thino-  created."  In  this  its 
pure  sense  ktisis  occurs  ivithotit  the 
article  in  Gal,  vi.  15,  in  which  verse  it  is 
carelessly  translated  in  our  version  "a 
new  creature,"  which  turns  the  verse 
into  nonsense ;  the  right  sense  being 
"neither  circumcision  availeth  &c.,  nor 
uncir  &c.,"  but  new  birth — new  creation. 

The  opposing  word  ktisma  occurs  in 


Distinctions  in  Scriptural  Evidence   157 

1  Tim.  iv.  4,  of  meats;  in  Rev.  v.  13, 
viii.  9,  of  beasts;  and  in  James  i.  18,  of 
all  created  thincjs. 

The  word  ktisis,  zvithout  the  article, 
occurs  with  the  meaning  of  creation 
generally — creation  of  the  world — in 
Mark  x,   6,   xiii.    19;     Rom.   i.   20;   and 

2  Peter  iii,  4. 

From  this  sense  it  slides  gradually 
into  that  of  a  created  thing — as  we  say 
a  beautiful  creation,  of  a  flower  or  other 
created  object.  So  it  occurs,  Rom.  viii. 
39  ;  2  Cor.  V.  17  ;  Col.  i.  15,  and  Heb.  iv. 
13;  in  all  these  cases  without  the  article. 

It  is  used,  however,  with  the  article 
in  Rev.  iii.  14,  where  the  article  is  made 
necessary  by  the  following  words:  "of 
God," — not  "creation"  generally,  but 
the  creation  of  God,  which  is  to  distin- 
guish it  from  that  universal  creation  of 
which   God    the   Father    is    said    to    be 


15H  Distinctions  in  Scriptural  Evidence 

TT pojTOTOKog  first-horn,  Col.  i.  15,  where  no 
article  is  used  ;  but  Christ  is  in  Rev.  iii. 
14  said  to  be,  not  the  first-born  of  all 
creation,  but  the  beginnino-  of  the  crea- 
tion of  God.  (And  ive  again  are  said  to 
be  the  awapy^ii,  first-fruits  or  tribute,  not  of 
creation,  but  of  the  lower  word  ktisnia, 
James  i.  18.)  Kiisis  is  again  used  with 
the  article  in  Rom.  i.  25,  where  the 
article  is  rendered  necessary  by  its  op- 
position to  the  Creator. 

I  am  aware  of  no  other  passages  in 
which  the  word  occurs  with  the  article, 
except  Mark  xvi.  15,  Rom.  viii.  19,  20, 
21,  22,  and  Col.  i.  23.  In  these  in- 
stances the  article  is  used  with  singular 

force  and  constancy,  7r«ao  ?/  Kriaic,  avrr]   1) 

KTimg,  TTuay  ry  kt'kth  &c. ;  and  in  all  these 
cases  its  sense  is  absolutely  limited  to 
man,  the  creature  of  creatures,  the  chief 
creature  of  God. 


Reproduction  Implies  Death       159 

Hence  it  is  that  I  say,  we  have  no 
right  whatever  to  draw  any  argument 
from  our  translation  of  Rom.  viii.  22,  as 
if  it  included  the  whole  creation  ;  for  in 
that  verse  the  word  is  in  the  original 
peculiarly  and  closely  limited  to  man. 

II.  The  power  of  reproduction  in- 
volves the  necessity  of  death  in  many 
ways.  First,  because  God  never  gave 
power  without  necessity  for  its  use.  If 
the  trees  first  created  on  the  earth  were 
to  be  imperishable,  there  was  no  neces- 
sity for  a  power  in  them  of  creating 
others.  The  world  would  have  been 
called  into  existence  in  perfection  at 
once,  as  many  trees  and  animals  might 
have  been  created  as  would  exist  in 
perfection  and  happiness  together,  and 
all  the  complicated  apparatus  of  fructifi- 
cation dispensed  with.  God  never 
makes  anything  more  complicated  than 


i6o   Nourishment  Attendant  upon  Death 

is  necessary,  nor  bestows  a  faculty  with- 
out an  object. 

Secondly,  the  light  little  parenthesis  of 
Miss  C ,  "provided  there  be  suffi- 
cient nourishment,"  begs  the  whole  ques- 
tion. The  farmer  cannot  grow  wheat 
twice  running  in  the  same  field,  because 
one  crop  entirely  exhausts  the  silicate  of 
potash  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the 
plant.  Nor  will  it  grow  again  until  the 
death  either  of  the  plant  itself  (as  in 
straw  used  for  manure),  or  of  some  other 
plant  containing  the  same  salt,  has  re- 
stored it  to  the  soil.  The  sapling  pine 
cannot  rise  to  its  full  growth,  nor,  in- 
deed, to  any  growth,  until  the  death  of 
its  parent  has  restored  to  the  soil  its  car- 
bonate of  potash.  We  may  imagine  a 
tree  maintained  for  ever  in  full  strength 
without  demand  upon  the  soil  ;  but  the 
moment  we   hear   of   its    bearing  seed, 


Chemical  Constituents  in  Plants    i6i 

that  moment  we  know  that  it  must 
perish.  Its  seed  impHes  that  God  has 
willed  it  to  have  a  successor.  Its  suc- 
cessor cannot  rise  but  out  of  its  decay. 

But  it  is  not  merely  the  death  of 
plants  which  is  implied  by  \}i\^  groivth  of 
plants.  They  require  in  all  cases  an 
element  for  their  growth,  nitrogen,  which 
they  can  only  assimilate  in  one  form, 
aniinonia ;  for  no  chemical  means,  how- 
ever powerful,  can  cause  the  combination 
of  nitrogen  with  any  other  element  but 
oxygen,  unless  it  be  presented  in  the 
form  of  ammonia. 

It  is  accordingly  found  that  no  plants 
can  grow  unless  supplied  with  ammonia; 
and  they  can  be  supplied  with  ammonia 
in  one  way  only — by  animal  putrefaction. 
There  is  no  ammonia  in  the  soil ;  there  is 
none  in  the  decayed  remnants  of  vege- 
table matter.      It  exists  in  the  plant  only 


1 6-2  Forms  of  Nourishment 

in  the  crude  and  unripe  juices  ;  in  the 
perfect  plant,  it  exists  separately  as  hy- 
drogen and  nitrogen,  and  cannot  be 
assimilated  by  its  successor.  There  is, 
therefore,  only  one  source  from  which 
the  plant  can  derive  it,  the  atmosphere  ; 
but  there  is  no  ammonia  in  the  atmo- 
sphere except  what  results  from  animal 
decay.  All  the  nitrogen  of  animal 
matter  is  given  off,  on  its  decay,  as  am- 
monia. This  ammonia  combines  in  the 
atmosphere  with  the  carbonic  acid, which 
is  the  result  of  animal  breath.  The  car- 
bonate of  ammonia  so  formed  is  dis- 
solved in  rain  water,  and  presented  in 
this  form  to  the  root  of  the  plant. 

We,  again,  require  for  our  nourishment, 
not  ammonia,  but  the  nitrogenised  sub- 
stances, gluten,  albumen,  &c.,  of  plants. 
Hence,  each  species  of  existence  fur- 
nishes  in  its  death  food    to   the    other, 


Supplementary  Parts  of  Creation    163 

and  the  nourishment  of  one  impHes  the 
simultaneous  dying  of  the  other. 

Nor  is  it  ammonia  alone  which  the 
plant  takes  from  the  aninial.  Carbonic 
acid,  also  a  product  of  decay,  as  well  as 
of  breath,  is  its  staple  nourishment — not 
more  essential  than  ammonia,  but  re- 
quired in  far  greater  quantity.  IVe  are 
machines  for  turning  carbon  and  oxygen 
into  carbonic  acid  ;  the  plant  is  a  machine 
for  turning  carbonic  acid  into  carbon  and 
oxygen.  Hence  the  plant  is  the  supple- 
ment of  the  animal,  and  the  animal  of 
the  plant. 

Hence  a  balance  must  be  kept  be- 
tween them  ;  if  either  exceed  its  limit,  it 
must  perish  for  want  of  the  other ;  and 
the  inorganic  constituents  of  the  earth 
are  left  in  a  state  of  perpetual  circulation 
from  death  to  life,  and  vice  versa. 

Hence,     whenever    we    talk    of    life. 


164        The  Green   Herb  for  Meat 

nourishment,  or  increase,  we  talk  in  the 
same  breath  of  a  supplementary  death 
and  diminution. 

Nor  were  these  laws  otherwise  in 
Eden.  The  green  herb  was  to  be  for 
meat.  This  was  destruction.  Was  it 
less  destruction  because  violent  and 
sudden  ?  or  did  it  less  imply  capability 
of  decay,  than  if  we  had  been  told  that 
the  trees  died  themselves  ?  We  might 
as  well  say  that  the  death  of  Abel  did 
not  imply  capability  of  death  in  man. 

And,  finally,  let  us  suppose  for  a 
moment  that  all  these  laws  of  nourish- 
ment and  creation  were  suspended,  and 
that  there  was  sufficient  matter  for 
assimilation  in  the  soil  to  supply  all 
plants,  multiply  as  they  would,  and 
sufficient  nitrogen  so  prepared  to 
nourish  all  animals,  multiply  as  they 
would ;    and    suppose    death   impossible. 


The   Earth  Without  Death       165 

In  two  centuries  after  the  creation  the 
earth  would  have  been  packed  tight 
with  animals,  and  the  only  question 
remaining  for  determination  would  have 
been — which  should  be  uppermost.  Long 
before  the  Hood  the  sea  would  have 
been  one  solid  mass  of  potted  fish, 
the  air  of  wedged  birds,  and  the  earth 
of  impenetrable  foliage. 

And  let  us  not  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  geology  has  opened  to  us  worlds 
different  in  organisation  or  system  from 
our  own.  It  has  but  expanded  before 
us  the  vast  unity  of  system,  the  one 
great  plan  of  progressive  existence,  of 
which  we  form  probably,  the  last  link. 
The  plants  of  past  ages  have  the  same 
organs,  the  same  structure  and  develop- 
ment, as  those  growing  now  ;  none 
but  the  practised  botanist  can  tell  the 
leaves  from  each  other.       The  animals 


i66    Preservation  of  Structural  Types 

played  precisely  the  same  part  in  re- 
lation to  them  ;  tlieir  or^j^anisation  was 
the  same  as  now,  their  ranks  of  de- 
structive existence  appointed  in  the 
same  order.  A  few  extraordinary  (to  us) 
creatures  existed,  peculiarly  adapted  for 
certain  circumstances,  but  in  no  essential 
points,  in  nothing  but  outward  form  and 
strength,  differing  from  their  modern 
types.  The  digestion  of  the  Ichthy- 
osaurus is  as  regular  and  simple  as  that 
of  any  living  aquatic  beast  of  prey, 
and  far  more  easily  traceable.  Even 
size  is  no  unfailing  characteristic.  No 
fossil  fish  has  been  discovered  fit  to  hold 
a  candle  to  our  modern  sharks  or  whales, 
though  the  shark  tribe  was  infinitely 
more  numerous  than  it  is  now ;  but 
there  were  too  many,  and  they  kept 
each  other  thin.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  by- 
the-bye,  though  well  known,   respecting 


Influence  of   i'he   Carnivora        167 

the  beneficial  inlluence  of  the  carnivora 
even  on  the  animals  they  prey  upon, 
that  if  you  stock  a  fish-pond  with  carp 
only,  at  the  end  of  a  year  or  two  you 
will  find  all  your  fish  miserably  thin 
and  have  no  more  weight  of  fish  (if  you 
drag  the  pond)  than  you  put  in.  But 
if  at  first  you  put  in  with  the  carp  a  few- 
pike,  say  one  in  four,  you  will,  when 
you  drag  your  pond,  have  twice  the 
weight  of  carp,  in  good  condition,  and  all 
your  pike  into  the  bargain. 

I    see  that   Miss   C objects   that 

the  growth  of  plants  is  not  sufficient  for 
animals  as  it  is.  Locally,  it  is  not. 
Universally,  it  is  far  too  great  for  them. 
Our  farmers  may  rise  the  price  of  corn 
over  a  county,  but  the  Great  Forest 
stretches  its  uninhabitable  crrowth  over 
America,  for  the  space  of  a  thousand 
kingdoms.     And  even  where  vegetation 


i68       A   Labyrinth  of   Difficulties 

is  limited,  this  is  simply  because  the 
plants  are  not  fed  by  their  own  death ; 
for  thougli  they  have  the  animal  volatile 
products  of  ammonia,  &c.,  they  have 
not  the  fixed  salts  except  when  they 
are  laboriously  restored  in  the  form  of 
manure. 

With  respect  to  the  question  respect- 
ing the  naming  of  fish,  I  can  only 
reply  in  the  words  of  the  questioner, 
that  all  such  speculations  lead  us  only 
into  a  labyrinth.  There  are  thousands 
of  difficulties  connected  with  the  Mosaic 
account.  What,  for  instance,  does  Eden 
include  ?  For  the  garden  was  in  Eden, 
and  eastward  in  it.  And  was  man,  sup- 
posing he  had  stood,  never  to  have  left 
his  primal  and  narrow  nursery-and- 
seedsman  sort  of  habitation  ?  How,  if 
so,  could  he  "  replenish  the  earth  and 
subdue  it  "  ?     Was  the  same  trial  to  be 


How  TO  Read  the  Mosaic  Account   169 

sustained  by  all  ?  And  how  could  it  be 
sustained,  unless  gardens  and  trees  of 
knowledge  were  multiplied  over  the 
earth  as  the  population  spread  ?  &c.  &c. 
The  whole  appears  to  me,  but  for  the 
close  geographical  account  of  the  Garden, 
very  much  like  an  Eastern  allegory  ;  but 
however  that  may  be,  I  think  it  is  better 
always  to  read  it  without  reference  to 
matters  of  physical  inquiry,  to  take  the 
broad,  simple  statements  of  creation — 
innocence,  disobedience,  and  guilt — and 
then  to  take  in  equal  simplicity  of  heart 
such  revelations  as  God  may  deign  to 
give  us  of  His  former  creations,  and  so 
to  pass  back  through  age  before  age  of 
preparatory  economy,  without  troubling 
ourselves  about  the  little  discrepancies 
which  may  appear  to  start  up  in  things 
and  statements  which  we  cannot  under- 
stand, 


rjo  Sf.ai.f.d  Mysteries 

Creation  may  have  been  suspended  in 
its  functions  for  a  moment — for  the  half- 
hour  (divines  seem  to  think  it  was  httle 
more)  of  man's  probation.  It  matters 
not  to  us.  What  we  are  we  know — and 
what  we  may  be,  we  know  ;  what  we 
have  been,  God  knows. 

There  is  much  of  mystical  in  Scripture, 
which,  doubtless,  will  one  day  be  made 
manifest  ;  but  we  do  but  waste  our  lives 
and  peril  our  faith  by  trying"  to  unravel 
it  before  its  time.  We  shall  not  break 
the  seal  by  dashing  it  against  stones. 

I  have  said,  I  see,  that  no  ammonia 
exists  in  the  atmosphere  but  what  arises 
from  the  putrefaction  of  animals.  This 
is  not  strictly  true,  for  several  mineral 
springs  supply  it  in  considerable  quan- 
tity ;  not  enough,  however,  in  all  the 
springs  of  Europe,  to  feed  the  vegeta- 
tion of  Lombardy  for  half  a  year. 


Source  of  Carbonate  of  Ammonia    171 

Supplies  of  this  kind  are  probably 
proportioned  to  the  gradual  increase  of 
animal  life,  and  consequent  demand  for 
more  nitrogen.  The  immediate  acting 
supply  is  deduced  only  from  animal  cor- 
ruption. From  every  churchyard,  from 
every  perishing  remnant  of  the  life  of 
the  forest  and  the  sea,  rises  the  constant 
supply  of  carbonate  of  ammonia,  which 
feeds  the  green  leafage  of  spring,  and 
expands  the  pulp  of  the  bright  fruit. 

Liebig  says  that  the  source  of  this 
ammonia  is  sufficiently  evident  by  its 
peculiar  odour,  if  rain  water  be  eva- 
porated with  a  little  sulphuric  acid,  and 
then  tested  with  lime. 

On  the  other  hand,  while  the  supply 
of  ammonia  is  gradually,  very  slightly, 
but  still  certainly  on  the  increase,  that  of 
carbonic  acid  is  much  diniinished.  Im- 
mense   quantities    of    this    acid    existed 


172      Diminution  of  Carbonic  Acid 

formerly  in  the  atmosphere,  which  feci 
the  colossal  vegetation  of  geological  eras. 
By  that  vegetation  it  was  gradually  with- 
drawn ;  and,  animal  life  not  being  suffi- 
ciently extended  on  the  earth  to  feed  on 
this  veo'etation,  and  so  return  the  carbonic 
acid  to  the  atmosphere,  it  was  with- 
drawn for  ever;  its  oxygen  was  restored 
by  ordinary  vegetable  action,  making 
the  atmosphere  purer  for  the  abode  of 
man,  and  its  carbon  deposited  in  the 
enormous  coal-fields,  which  are  now  the 
source  of  all  his  vastest  powers.  Animal 
and  vegetable  life  are  now  better  ba- 
lanced. The  vegetable,  having  no  extra- 
ordinary supply  of  carbonic  acid,  is 
diminished  in  growth  ;  and  the  animal 
feeding  on  this  diminished  growth 
restores  the  carbon  to  the  air,  and 
provides  for  the  equal  growth  of  the 
succeeding  plant, 


XVII. 

\_Posliiiayk,  Janiiayy  8,  1843]. 


My  dear  C- 


Many  thanks  for  your  kind  letter 
and  enclosure,  which  I  have  read  very 
carefully,  and  like  exceedingly — espe- 
cially the  concluding  part  of  it,  which 
is  very  graceful  and  impressive ;  nor, 
on  the  whole,  do  I  think  you  are  at 
all  wrong  in  taking  advantage  of  the 
popular  notion  respecting  the  Fall,  as 
it  is  too  essential  a  part  of  most  persons' 
faith  to  be  lightly  struck  at,  nor  unless 
under  very  strong  convictions  of  some 
necessary  or  important  truth  which  it 
prevents  the  reception  of.  But  when 
you  are  thinking  of  the  subject  your- 
self, for  your  own  private  edification  and 


174     The  Characteristics  of  a  Tree 

good,    I    wish   you  would   tell   me  what 
is  your  notion  of  a  tree. 

You  will  most  likely  have  a  conception 
of  a  thing  with  leaves  on  it,  and  bringing 
forth  flowers  in  its  season.  You  cannot 
conceive  a  tree  without  leaves  and 
flowers.  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  a 
leaf  and  flower  ?  You  mean  by  the  flrst, 
an  instrument  for  depriving  carbonic  acid 
of  its  oxygen,  and  giving  carbon  to  the 
plant.  You  can  have  no  other  mean- 
ing ;  for  leaves  are  of  all  colours,  and 
forms,  appearances,  and  have  nothing 
in  common  but  this — this  is  the  essence 
of  a  leaf.  You  mean  by  the  second,  a 
part  of  the  plant  which  has  in  it  organs 
of  fructification.  You  can  have  no  other 
meaning  but  this  ;  for  flowers  have  no 
common  form,  nor  appearance,  nor  any- 
thing essential  but  this. 

Therefore,    you    mean    by    the    first. 


The   Definition  of  a  Tree         175 

something-  which  is  perpetually  giving 
to  the  plant  that  which  it  had  not  before  ; 
and  by  the  second,  a  preparation  for 
the  production  of  another  plant.  You 
imply,  therefore,  growth — change  of  state 
—  and  preparation  for  a  succeeding 
existence.  Therefore,  when  you  say  "a 
tree,"  you  mean  a  growing,  changing, 
and  preparing  thing. 

Now  it  cannot  grow  for  ever,  for  then 
there  would  not  be  nourishment  for  its 
substance.  Whatever  stops  its  growth 
must  be  a  loss  of  energy  in  the  vital 
functions — that  is.  incipient  death.  When 
you  say  a  growing  thing,  therefore,  you 
mean  something  advancing  to  death. 
Neither  can  the  new  tree  and  the  old 
tree  exist  together.  One  must  perish  to 
make  room  for  the  other.  Therefore, 
every  bud  and  blossom  of  the  parent  tree 
implies  and  necessitates  its  destruction. 


176  Death  the  Corollary  of  Blossoming 

Therefore,  when  you  say  a  preparnig 
thing,   a  fructifying  thing,    you   mean   a 
dying  thing.     Therefore,  whenever  you 
speak   of  a    tree,   you    speak    of   death. 
That  which    has    not    in    it    the    begin- 
ninor  and  orerm  of  death,  is  not  a  tree. 
Consequently,  if  there  were  trees  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden  there  was  death  ;  or,  if 
there    was    not    death,    they    coukl    not 
have  had  leaves,  nor  flowers,  nor  any  of 
those  organs  of  growth  or  germination 
which  now  constitute   the  essence    of  a 
tree.    People  will  look  very  grave  at  you, 
indeed,  if  you   hint   that   there  were  no 
flowers  in  the  Garden,  and  yet  the  very 
meaning   of   the  word  flower  is — some- 
thing to  supply  death. 

But  if  you  can  suppose  that  Scripture 
tells  you  that  there  were  trees  in  the 
Garden,  and  means  in  saying  so  some- 
thing   which    had    neither    leaves    nor 


The  Carnivora  in  Eden  177 

flowers,  nor  any  organs  of  a  tree,  you 
may  give  up  your  trust  in  the  whole 
of  it  at  once  ;  for  you  can  never  tell,  if 
there  be  such  latitude  of  interpretation, 
what  anything  means  throughout  the 
book.  Therefore,  either  Scripture  is 
wholly  to  be  distrusted,  as  meaning  one 
thing  when  it  says  another — or  there 
was  death  in  Eden. 

Again  :  what  do  you  understand  by 
the  term  "lion?"  Surely  an  animal 
with  claws  and  sharp  teeth.  If  it  have 
not  claws  and  teeth  it  is  not  a  lion, 
it  is  some  other  animal — a  different 
animal  from  any  that  we  have  any 
notion  of,  but  not  a  lion.  But  if  it  have 
claws  and  teeth,  do  you  suppose  God 
Qfave  it  claws  and  teeth  for  nothinof  ? 
The  gift  of  an  instrument  supposes  the 
appointment  to  a  function.  The  claw 
is  to  catch  with,  the    teeth    are  to  tear 

u 


178    Gift  of  Functions  Presupposes  Use 

with,  and  there  is  a  particular  juice  in  the 
stomach  to  digest  meat  with.  Now  to 
suppose  that  these  were  given  without 
intention  of  being  used,  is  the  same  thing 
as  to  suppose  that  your  tongue  was 
given  to  you  without  your  being  in- 
tended to  talk  or  taste  with  it,  and  that 
it  is  by  corruption  of  nature  that  you 
walk  with  your  legs.  A  Hon  at  peace 
with  other  animals  is  therefore  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms — or  at  least  it  is  the 
same  thing  as  saying  that  God  has 
adapted  every  muscle  to  a  function 
which  it  was  never  intended  to  discharge. 
And  though  by  special  miracle  the  lion 
shall  eat  straw  as  the  ox,  that  does  not 
prove  that  it  was  made  to  eat  straw,  any 
more  than  the  miracle  of  Elisha  proves 
that  iron  was  intended  to  be  lighter  than 
water — which,  if  it  were,  the  whole  eco- 
nomy of  the  world  must  be  changed. 


Deductions  about  Animal  Creation   179 

Hence,  if  these  animals  were  at  peace 
in  Eden,  they  were  either  created  with 
especial  view  to  their  after  functions, 
and  maintained  for  a  short  time  at  peace 
by  especial  miracle  ;  or  else  they  were 
different  animals — not  lions  nor  tisfers, 
but  things  of  which  we  have  no  concep- 
tion, having  different  muscles,  no  claws, 
no  digestive  organs  for  meat,  &c.  &c. 
To  the  first  of  these  positions,  the 
naming  by  Adam  gives  the  lie  direct,  for 
it  implies  knowledge  of  their  nature  ; 
and  how  could  Adam  know  their  nature, 
when  every  one  of  their  functions  was 
miraculously  suspended  ?  The  second 
position  is  more  possible,  partially  im- 
plied by  the  speaking  of  the  infant,  but 
yet  it  supposes  a  nezv  creation  at  the  fall 
of  Adam,  which  I  cannot  but  think  would 
have  been  at  least  indicated  in  some  way 
or  other  in  Scripture. 


i8o      Additional  Happiness  Gained 

Further.  By  the  institution  of  carni- 
vora,  one  third  more  happiness  is  brought 
into  existence.  For  the  earth  will  only 
by  its  appointed  constitution  feed  a  cer- 
tain number  of  herbivora;  and  by  making 
them  food  to  a  higher  series,  one  more 
step  of  existence  is  gained. 

Further.  There  is  not  one  text  in 
Scripture,  out  of  which  you  can  squeeze 
the  slightest  evidence  that  death  did  not 
take  place  with  the  lower  animals. 

Wherever  death  is  mentioned  as  com- 
ing by  man,  the  resurrection  is  mentioned 
as  parallel  with  it.  If  you  suppose  the 
doom  extended  to  the  animals,  so  must 
the  recovery  be.  In  the  expression, 
"  The  whole  creation  groaneth  and  tra- 
vaileth,"  &c. — the  words  are  Traaa  ?j  KTimc, 
precisely  the  words  used  to  the  apostles 
when   our   Lord   bids   them   preach    the 

gospel  :    7r<7rrJ?  r??  KTiau.       Do    yOU  SUppOSC 


Geological  Evidence  i8i 

our  Lord  meant  to  bid  them  preach  to 
the  whole  creation  ?  No— but  the  other 
text  is  falsely  translated  ;  it  can  only  mean 
"  Every  man — all  men — every  creature 
groaneth,"  &c. 

Further.  All  this  evidence  coming 
from  the  visible,  present  creation,  and 
Scripture,  we  have,  in  addition,  geolo- 
gical evidence  of  death  extending  for 
an  infinite  series  of  ages  before  man. 
Lyell  has  discovered  the  bones  of  the 
mastodon,  the  most  recent  of  all  fossils, 
in  a  bed  cut  throzigh  by  the  ancient 
course  of  the  Niagara,  three  hundred 
feet  above  its  present  bed,  and  three 
miles  and  a  half  below  the  falls  ;  in 
cutting  back  from  this  [)oint.  the  river 
by  the  very  lowest  calculation  must  have 
been  occupied  15,000  years.'  My  own 
conviction   is,   therefore — it   don't    much 

'  (Cy.  LycU's  ■'  Principles  of  Geology,"  ch.  \\\. — Eu.) 


1 82  Man's  State   in  Eden 

matter  what  it  is,  but  I  believe  it  is  most 
people's  who  pay  any  regard  whatsoever 
to  modern  science — that  man  in  Eden 
was  a  growing  and  perfectible  animal ; 
that  when  perfected  he  was  to  have  been 
translated  or  changed,  and  to  leave  the 
earth  to  his  successors,  without  pain. 
In  the  doom  of  death  he  received  what 
before  was  the  lot  of  lower  animals — 
corruption  of  the  body — and,  far  worse, 
death  of  the  soul.  I  believe  the  whole 
creation  was  in  Eden  what  it  is  now, 
only  so  subjected  to  man  as  only  to 
minister  to  him — never  to  hurt  him. 
The  words  "to  dress  it  and  keep  it" 
speak  volumes. 

The  only  passage  in  your  sermon 
I  didn't  like  is  that  about  tradition. 
Why  say  that  is  based  on  tradition 
which  you  can  so  easily  prove  from 
Scripture  ? 


Personalities  183 

It  is  late.  Remember  me  to  all  at 
Twickenham.  I  am  very  glad  to  hear 
your  invalid  is  at  least  no  worse. — Ever 
yours  affectionately, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


^VIII 

[Postmark,  Feb.  7,  184.3], 


My  dear  C- 


I  think  your  last  apology  as  un- 
founded as  your  first  was  unnecessary, 
and  I  think  you  had  much  better  try  no 
more.  I  should  have  answered  your  letter 
a  month  ago,  if  I  had  known  what  in  the 
world  to  say  to  it.  Don't  write  me  any 
more  such  stuff — and,  above  all,  measure 
yourself  rightly.  It  is  quite  as  wrong, 
and  as  far  from  anything  like  real 
humility,  to  underrate  as  to  overrate 
ourselves ;  and  to  say,  when  you  are 
working  very  hard  in  the  noblest  of  all 
professions,  that  you  are  hiding  your 
talents    under   a  bushel,   is    not   giving 


The  Benefit  of  Sermons  185 

God  credit  nor  honour  for  the  grace  He 
has  given  you. 

As  for  the  major  part  of  your  letter,  it 
is  very  beautifully  expressed  and  felt ; 
and  that  bit  of  glorious  George,  which  to 
my  shame  I  have  not  repeated  to  myself, 
nor  thought  of  for  a  year  or  two  (though 
I  never  forgot  a  word  of  it  from  the  first 
moment  I  cast  eyes  on  it),  is  a  clincher. 
But  yet  it  requires  the  preaching  of  a 
considerable  deal  of  patience,  to  make 
one  sit  out  some  of  the  sermons  I  speak 
of,  comfortably;  not,  observe,  because  I 
go,  as  you  think,  to  be  amused  or  tickled 
by  speculation  or  oratory.  I  go,  I  hope, 
to  receive  real  benefit  of  some  kind  or 
another ;  but  then  how  am  I  to  be 
benefited  ?  Not  by  the  bare  rehearsal  of 
duties  which  I  know  as  well  as  my 
alphabet ;  not  by  the  repetition  of 
motives  which  are  constantly  before  me, 


1 86  The  Benefit  of  Sermons 

;ind  which  I  never  act  upon  ;  not  by 
the  enunciation  of  truths  which  I  per- 
petually hear,  and  never  believe.  But 
by  giving  explanation  to  the  duties, 
force  to  the  motives,  proof  to  the  facts  ; 
and  to  do  this  in  any  degree  requires 
some  part  or  portion  of  intellect  above 
mine,  or  different  from  mine ;  and 
when  I  find  this,  I  get  good — otherwise 
not.  I  can  conceive  how  different  the 
feeling  of  a  really  religious  person  might 
be,  and  how  each  trivial  expression 
of  the  minister  might  raise  in  their 
minds  some  pleasant  thought  or  new 
devotional  feeling ;  but  even  then  I 
should  fancy  that  the  following  words 
of  the  preacher  were  as  likely  to  be  an 
interruption,  as  an  assistance  to  the  train 
of  thought  he  had  previously  awakened. 
To-day  being  the  first  Sunday  of  the 
month,   Mr.    Melville    preached   at    the 


The  Benefit  of  Sermons  187 

Tower,  and  his  curate  gave  us  a  sermon 
on  "  Unto  Adam  also,  and  to  his  wife, 
did  the  Lord  God  make  coats  of  skins, 
&c."  "  Now,"  thought  I,  when  he 
began,  "  I  know  what  you're  going  to 
say  about  that ;  you'll  say  that  the  beasts 
were  sacrificed,  and  that  the  skins  were 
typical  of  the  robe  of  Christ's  righteous- 
ness, &c. — that's  all  of  course  ;  I  wonder 
if  you  can  tell  me  anything  more."  Well, 
he  began  :  "  As  by  sin  came  death,  there 
could  be  no  death  before  sin."  "Ah," 
thought  I,  "it's  a  pity  you  don't  know 
something  of  natural  history  ;  it's  not 
much  use  my  listening  to  any  more 
of  that,  because  we  haven't  common 
premises  to  start  from,  and  I  shan't 
believe  a  word  you  say." 

Nevertheless,  I  did  listen,  and  got — 
diluted  into  three  quarters  of  an  hour — as 
much  as  I  knew  about  the  text,  and  no 


i88       Reynolds,  Fuseli,  and  Barry 

more,  save  and  except  a  charitable  wish 
on  the  part  of  the  preacher — "  May  we 
all  be  clothed  with  this  robe,"  &c. 
"What  the  deuce,"  thought  I,  "  is  the 
use  of  your  stupid  wishes  ?  do  you 
suppose  people  don't  usually  wish  for 
all  that's  good  for  them,  though  they 
don't  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  say 
so  ? "  So  much  for  the  benefit  I  got 
from  my  sermon. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  reading  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds ;  it  is  very  good  sterling 
matter,  though  it  is  not  well  arranged, 
and  not  very  7^echerchd  or  original. 
You  will  find  Fuseli  s  and  Barry  s 
Lectures  worth  a  great  deal  more  ;  the 
former  especially,  being  an  accomplished 
scholar,  unites  art  and  literature,  and 
rather  gives  you  the  philosophy  of  the 
fine  arts  as  a  group,  than  the  techni- 
calities of  any  one.      He  is  peculiarly  fit 


Reynolds,  Fuseli,  and  Barry       189 

to  be  studied  by  men  who  only  make 
painting-  a  subservient  and  recreative 
part  of  their  occupation,  because  he 
shows  its  connection  with  other  subjects 
of  the  intellect.  Both  he  and  Barry 
are  deep  thinking  and  original.  Sir 
Joshua's  reputation  depends  partly  on 
his  popularity  as  a  practical  man — partly 
from  the  very  shallowness  of  his  work, 
which  puts  it  down  to  the  level  of  men's 
idleness.  To  read  Barry  or  Fuseli 
requires  more  thought  and  attention 
than  people  care  to  be  troubled  with. 
But  Sir  Joshua's  is  a  good  book  as  far 
as  it  goes. 

I   received  on  Thursday  a  most  kind 

note   from    Mrs.    C ,  asking   me  to 

dine  there  on  Friday.  I  was  unluckily 
out  all  Thursday,  and  did  not  receive 
my  note  till  eleven  at  night,  so  that 
my  answer  next  day  would,   I   fear,  not 


iQO  Mrs.  Sherwood's  Religion 

be  in  time  to  prevent  their  waiting 
dinner  for  me.  I  could  not  possibly  go, 
as  I  expected  my  father  home  from  a 
journey  ;  and  I  am  so  much  engaged  at 
present  that  I  have  not  even  an  evening, 
much  less  a  day,  to  spare  to  my  engage- 
ments for  two  months  to  come.  I  should 
not  apologise  for  this,  even  though  I 
could  help  it,  for  of  course  the  loss  is  all 
on  my  side,  and  the  very  first  day  I 
have  to  take  my  pleasure  in,  I  shall  go 
over   to    Twickenham.      I    hope     Miss 

Blanche  C has  recovered  her  health ; 

you  have  given  me  no  reports  lately  of 
the  health  of  your  family. 

Have  you  ever  read  Mrs.  Sherwood's 
"  Henry  Milner "  ?  I  should  like  to 
know  what  you  thought  of  her  religion. 
It  is  a  kind  of  religion  I  am  particularly 
fond  of,  but  I'm  afraid  it's  improper. 
Sincerest  regards  when  you  write  to  all 


"Fixing"  Chalk  and  Pencil  Drawings  191 

at  Twickenham. — Ever  yours  affection- 
ately, 

J.  RUSKIN. 

I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean 
by  "lithographic  boards."  I  use  litho- 
graphic paper,  but  not  boards ;  but  I 
think  chalk  or  pencil  drawings  on  any- 
thing require  to  be  fixed.  I  use,  myself, 
plain  77iilk,  boiled  and  applied  very  hot, 
only  once,  as  rapidly  as  possible  ;  but  I 
never  saw  a  chalk  drawing  fixed  without 
being  spoiled,  and  almost  prefer  leaving 
them  to  take  their  chance.  There  are 
people  in  London  who  fix  them,  making 
it  a  profession,  and  do  it  well ;  but  I  (\c> 
not  know  their  secret. 


XIX. 

[Letter  mutilated  at  the  beginning] . 

I  was '  in  Green  Street  in  the 

course  of  last  week,  to  find  that  you  had 
given  me  a  wrong  statement  of  time,  and 

that    Mrs.    C ,  having   stayed    only 

five  instead  of  ten  days  in  town,  had  re- 
turned to  Twickenham  the  day  before. 
I  hope,  however,  to  be  able  to  get  over 
to  Twickenham  soon. 

Thanks  for  your  note.  What  are  you 
giving  up  your  curacy  for  ?  and  where 
are  you  going }  and  how  long  may  I 
hope  to  see  you  here  ?  Write  to  tell  me 
concerninof  ^ 


'fc. 


The    text,    by  -  the  -  bye,  of  the   green 

'  (Spaces  left  are  where  a  portion  of  the  letter  has 
been  cut  away). 


Discussion  on  Eden  Continued      193 

herbs  given  for  meat  rather  confirms 
the  geological  view  than  weakens  it ; 
for  you  see  the  fishes  are  omitted — 
which  is  as  much  as  an  intimation  that 
then,  as  now,  they  were  almost  entirely 
carnivorous,  and  that  the  mention  of  the 
green  meat  given  to  the  earth-animals  is 
rather  an  illustration  of  the  bounty  of 
God  in  giving  that  sweetness  and  soft- 
ness to  seeds  and  fruits,  unnecessary  to 
them,  and  meant  especially  for  the 
pleasure  and  health  of  animals,  than  any 
limitation  of  the  animals  to  such  food. 
Fishes  are  so  entirely  dependent  upon 
their  own  tribes  for  food — the  ultimate 
nourishment  of  the  smallest  being 
derived  from  matter  (probably  in  a 
state  of  decomposition)  too  delicate  to 
be  appreciable — that  the  very  naming 
of  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  fish, 
may    almost    be    received    as    a   direct 


194     Discussion  on  Eden  Continued 

assertion  of  existence  supported  by 
death  of  others. — Ever  yours  affection- 
ately and  in  haste, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


XX. 


Denmark  Hill,  December  5  [1843  ?] 

My  dear  Doctor, 

Allow  me  respectfully  and  prophetic- 
ally so  to  address  you,  and  to  wish  you 
a  v&ry  profitable  New  Year,  and  as  many 
of  them  as  may  be  expedient  and  proper 
for  you.  Happiness  I  have  no  doubt 
you  despise,  so  I  don't  mention  it ;  but 
pray  convey  my  best  wishes  in  that 
respect  to  all  at  Twickenham,  only  keep- 
ing as  many  for  yourself  as  you  consider 
perfectly  correct. 

You  are  a  nice  person  certainly,  to 
come  to  London  and  back,  without  so 
much  as  a  shavi  call  (saying  you'll 
come,  and  staying  away) — though  you 
do  go  through  the  ceremony  on  a  larger 


196  Truth  in  Sketching 

scale  and  with  grander  effect,  writing 
to  ask  people  questions  about  their 
latitude  three  weeks  before,  when  it 
don't  matter  to  you  whether  they  are  to 
be  at  Rome  or  Richmond,  for  all  that 
you  intend  to  make  of  them.  However 
I  won't  scold — they  have  little  enough  of 
you  at  Twickenham  now — and  it  would 
be  a  hard  case  if  they  had  to  send  you 
all  the  way  over  here  for  nothing. 

Thank  you  for  the  drawings.  I  shall 
call  for  them  the  first  time  I  pass. 
You  may  do  yourself  good  even  in 
working  up  your  sketches — if  you  put 
in  all  the  accidents  from  nature.  If  you 
want  a  tree,  go  and  look  for  one  that 
suits  you,  and  put  it  in  twig  for  twig ; 
if  you  want  a  bank,  a  bunch  of  grass,  or 
anything  that  you  have  hieroglyphlsed 
in  the  comprehensible  parts  of  your 
sketch — as  there  though  not  represented 


The  First  Essential  of  Composition     197 

— do  not  attempt  to  recollect  it,  but  put 
a  bond  fide  bit  of  truth  instead. 

If  you  do  not  do  this,  every  touch  of 
composition  is  waste  of  time — worse,  it 
is  vitiation  of  the  eye  and  hand. 

No  artist  can  compose  with  benefit  to 
himself,  until  his  mind  be  full  and  over- 
flowing with  the  closest  and  most  ac- 
curate knowledge  of  the  facts  of  nature. 
Above  all,  don't  imagine  that  what  you 
suppose  to  be  recollection  is  anything 
beyond  composition.  You  may  remember 
if  a  tree  sloped  to  the  right  or  left,  if  it 
were  tall  or  short,  graceful  or  grim, 
slender  or  stout ;  but  all  its  details, 
every  one  of  the  important  and  distinc- 
tive features,  on  which  the  pleasure 
with  which  the  reality  affected  you 
was  mainly  dependent,  are  altogether 
beyond  either  your  or  anybody  else's 
recollection.     And  the  worst  and  most 


198    The  Limits  of  Artistic  License 

careless  drawing  that  you  make  faith- 
fully on  the  spot,  twig  for  twig,  as  far  as 
it  is  in  your  power,  will  be  immeasur- 
ably better  and  more  beautiful  than  the 
prettiest  you  can  make  out  of  your 
head. 

Your  powers  of  toleration  are  magni- 
ficently elastic,  however.  I  congratulate 
you  exceedingly  on  your  mild  reception 
of  what  you  supposed  to  be  a  moon 
shining  in  her  own  eyes — I  have  heard 
of  men  standing  in  their  own  light,  but 
I  should  not  venture  even  to  realise  that 
much  of  phenomenon  in  a  painting.  I 
think  everything  is  allowable  in  an  artist 
that  violates  no  law  of  nature,  but  not 
a  step  further.  What  you  suppose  to 
be  moonlioht  in  reverse  is  the  liofht  of 
the  western  sky,  still  falling  on  the 
higher  parts  of  the  building,  and  casting 
visible  (though  indistinct)  shadows.      In 


Afterglow  in  Southern  Countries    199 

southern  countries  the  light  from  the 
west  is  often  intense  and  effective  for 
half  an  hour  after  the  sun  has  set  (I  don't 
mean,  of  course,  down  to  the  tropics,  but 
in  the  south  of  France),  and  casts 
shadows  and  illustrates  objects  like 
actual  sunlight  —  contrasted,  of  course, 
very  frequently  with  deep  gloom  behind, 
which  I  have  here  enhanced  by  dense 
clouds  so  as  to  give  the  moon  fair  play. 

I  am  very  glad  you  like  the  picture. 
As  for  your  saying  Turner's  trees  are 
wiggy,  you  should  have  a  wigging  for 
it — but  you  will  know  better  soon. 

[Leiler  Unfinislicd\ 


XXI. 

Macugnaga — Val  Anzasca,  August  3. 
[Postmark,  August  18,  1845]. 


Dear  C- 


I  used  to  write  many  and  long  letters 
home  when  I  was  abroad  formerly,  but 
then  I  was  lounging— now  I  am  work- 
ing ;  and  I  usually  work  myself  stupid 
by  the  close  of  the  day,  and  think  it 
unfair  to  give  my  dregs  to  my  friends. 
I  assure  you  I  have  written  only  five 
letters,  except  to  my  father  or  mother, 
since  I  left  England ;  and  those  were 
letters  promised  or  of  necessity,  the 
result  of  which  is,  that  with  most  people 
I  suffer  not  thinking  on  like  the  hobby- 
horse ;  but  as  I  suppose  you  will  still 
have   some   indignant   memory   of  me, 


Life  Up  Among  the   Hills         201 

I  would   fain   soften  it  a  little,  and  get 
you  to  send  me  some  talk. 

I  have  not  seen  an  English  paper  for 
six  weeks,  and  the  last  that  I  saw  I  didn't 
read  ;  so  it  matters  not  how  stale  your 
news  is,  it  will  entertain  me,  more 
especially  as,  since  I  left  home,  I  have 
received  just  hijo  letters  except  from 
home  itself  One  of  those  was  on  such 
thin  paper  that  I  couldn't  read  it  ;  and 
the  other  was  from  your  friend  Gordon, 
which  told  me  that  he  had  got  wet,  and 
that  he  didn't  know  where  he  was  going 
next.  So  that  up  here  among  the  hills — 
living  in  a  deal  cabin,  in  which  I  can't 
stretch  without  taking  the  skin  off  my 
knuckles,  with  not  a  soul  whom  I  can 
speak  to  except  the  cows  and  the  goats 
and  a  black  puppy,  and  some  sociable 
moths  who  come  in  the  evening  to  put 
my   candle   out — I   begin  to    feel    more 


202    Presentations  to  Christ's   Hospital 

like  St.  Paul  or  St.  Anthony  than  my- 
self. I  don't  mean  our  St.  Paul,  but 
their  St.  Paul  here — the  first  hermit,  who 
had  the  two  lions  to  dig  his  grave,  the 
two  pious  lions  that  wouldn't  go  away 
afterwards  till  they  had  got  St.  Anthony's 
blessing. 

And  another  reason  of  my  writing  was 
that  I  heard  from  home  you  were  in 
want  of  a  presentation  to  Christ's 
Hospital,  and  that  I  fear  you  will  think 
it  very  odd  or  unkind  that  we  can't 
give  it  you.  But  mercy  on  us — though 
we  haven't  many  relations,  some  of 
them  always  contrive  to  make  them- 
selves miserable  once  in  five  years  ;  and 
they  come  to  one  for  muffin  caps  and 
yellow  stockings,  as  if  we  could  bake 
the  one  and  dye  the  other.  If  you 
could  but  see  the  letters  that  come, 
three  and   four   a  day,  for  two   months 


Presentations  to  Christ's  Hospital    203 

before  one  has  a  presentation — there  is 
enough  to  make  you  laugh  or  cry  as 
you  choose. 

Letters  from  lazy  fathers,  who  don't 
like  to  hear  their  children  squalling. 
Fathers  always  say  that  the  young 
sprout  shows  "talent  of  the  most 
promising  kind,"  or  "far  above  his 
years." 

Letters  from  widowed  mothers,  who 
always  say  that  they  "  haven't  means 
to  bring  up  their  children  in  the 
station  of  life  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed to."  The  mothers  are  always 
willing  to  work,  one  sees  that  ;  they 
don't  find  their  children  a  bore.  It 
is  their  confounded  vanity  that  upsets 
them  ;  they  can  make  their  shirts  and 
their  shifts,  but  they  -can't  make  'em 
surplices  ;  and  as  mothers  always  want 
their   eldest   sons    to  have  a  university 


204    Presentations  to  Christ's  Hospital 

education,  and  be  bishops — and  their 
second  son  to  be  Lord  Chancellor — 
and  their  third,  admiral  of  the  blue — 
they  try  Christ's  Hospital  as  the  first 
step. 

Letters  from  uncles,  which  say  that 
their  brother  was  a  very  worthy  man — 
very  much  so — but  exceedingly  impru- 
dent, and  they  can't  support  his  family 
as  well  as  their  own. 

Letters  from  strange  ladies,  who 
"  have  known  the  family  for  years, 
and  can  answer  for  their  respectability  ;" 
and  these  are  exceedingly  eloquent, 
quote  texts  to  an  overpowering  extent, 
and  promise  you  as  many  tickets  for 
Paradise  as  you  want,  for  yourself  and 
friends,  if  you'll  give  them  one  for 
Christ's  Hospital. 

I  have  got  two  or  three  letters  from 
the    eldest    sisters    of    orphan    families, 


Presentations  to  Christ's  Hospital    205 

which  were  the  real  thing,  and  very 
touching — and  some  very  good  and 
sensible  ones  from  aunts.  Half-pay 
officers  with  eleven  children  and  no  wife 
write  in  a  very  dismal  tone  indeed. 

August  ^tk. — I  don't  know  that  the 
no  wife  adds  practically  to  the  misfor- 
tune, but  theoretically  it  does  ;  and  they 
get  frightened  the  first  time  they  have  to 
tuck  all  the  eleven  children  up. 

It  is  a  sin  to  give  you  any  more  of 
this  writing.  I  write  even  worse  than 
I  did,  from  scribbling  notes  on  my  arm 
in  the  galleries.  I  can't  read  my  note- 
book except  when  my  wits  are  at  the 
brightest ;  otherwise  I  forget  what  all 
the  words  are. 

Will  you  send  me  a  line — per  Billiter 
Street — and  tell  me  how  you  and  your 
family  are?  It's  no  use  my  beginning 
to   tell   you  what    I  have  been  about — 


2o6  Personalities 

merely  picture  gazing  or  manufacturing  ; 
and  there  are  plenty  of  travels  in  print 
without  my  sending  you  mine. — Ever 
yours  affectionately, 

J.  KUSKIN. 


XXII. 

[No  date] . 

My  dear  C 

I  suppose  you  must  have  made 
quantities  of  friends  at  Ceylon,  to  be  able 
drop  your  old  ones  so  coolly.  For  my 
part,  though  I  can't  write  to  my  friends, 
I  never  consider  them  as  in  the  least 
lost  or  spoiled  by  not  looking  after  ;  and 
I  think  you  will  find,  with  people  at  all 
good  for  anything,  that  it  is  always  so. 
I  feel  exactly  towards  you  as  I  used  to 
do,  and  was  talking  of  you  the  day 
before  yesterday.  One  ought  to  be  able 
to  keep  one's  friends  like  one's  wine,  any 
number  of  years  in  the  cellar,  and  find 
them  only  a  little  crusted  at  last,  and 
better  in  flavour  than  ever. 


2o8    Symbolism  a  Dangerous  Plaything 

I  didn't  answer  a  note  of  yours  about 
Christ's  Hospital,  because  I  couldn't  do 
the  thing — and  I  thought  a  letter  about 
a  piece  of  business  only,  not  worth 
answering. 

Tell  your  sister,  with  my  kind  re- 
membrances, that  symbolism,  although 
very  interesting,  and  doubtless  actual,  in 
creation,  is  a  dangerous  plaything;  it  has 
wasted  the  time  of  the  whole  of  Europe 
for  about  two  centuries  ;  and  should  only 
be  pursued  when  it  is  either  perfectly 
plain — or  as  helpful  to  the  feelings  at  any 
given  moment  when  it  suggests  itself — 
without  being  insisted  upon  as  more 
than  a  fancy. 

Ladies'  symbolisms  are  nearly  always 
sure  to  be  false,  from  their  careless  way 
of  reasoning.  Thus,  in  your  sister's  first 
idea,  she  says,  "the  heart  is  addressed 
through     the    eye    and    hand."      Why 


Careless  Reasoning  in  Symbolism  209 

does  she  miss  the  ear  ?  Probably  be- 
cause her  real  meaniiitr  was  not  that  the 
heart  is  addressed,  but  addresses  through 
the  hand.  Nobody  is  usually  addressed 
through  their  hands,  except  a  lover  al- 
lowed to  touch  his  mistress'  fingers  for 
the  first  time.  We  work  with  our  hands, 
and  are  addressed  through  eyes  and 
ears  usually — sometimes  through  the  lips, 
I  should  think — and  occasionally  by  bas- 
tinado, through  the  soles  of  the  feet. 

I  don't  think  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
can  be  deduced  from  these  premises  of 
fact.  A  leaf  has  two  sides,  it  is  true ;  and 
it  isn't  easy  to  see  how  it  should  have 
fewer.  But  he  would  be  a  very  doubt- 
ful Trinitarian  who  looked  upon  the 
Persons  of  the  Trinity  as  its  Aspects. 

For  the  trinity  of  heaven,  earth,  and 
sea,  it  is  a  prettier  idea;  but  "the 
heaven  "   is    nothing    at   all — the  clouds 

o 


210  The  Choice  of  Symbolisms 

are  only  the  sea  in  another  shape — and 
though  the  air  is  a  good  type  of  the 
"  Spirit,"  the  "  Powers  of  it  "  are  not 
supposed  to  be  particularly  sacred.  Still, 
the  phrase,  "born  of  w.  (water?)  and  of 
the  spirit,"  in  some  degree  justifies  this 
image  ;  only  if  air,  earth,  and  water,  are 
to  be  a  Trinity,  what  becomes  of  fire  ?  or 
oil  ? — the  last  as  important  in  its  chemi- 
cal functions  in  vegetation  as  water  is. 
All  these  things  must  be  thought  over 
most  carefully  before  a  symbolism  will 
hold  good. — Always  affectionately  yours, 

J.  RUSKIN. 


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